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premiere  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  darniire  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

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derniire  image  de  cheque  n.icrofiche.  salon  le 
cas:  le  symbols  — *•  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbols  V  signifie  "FIN". 

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filmis  i  des  taux  de  reduction  diffirents. 
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reproduit  en  un  seul  cliche,  il  est  filmi  d  partir 
de  Tangle  supirieur  gauche,  de  gauche  i  droite. 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  nicessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mithoda. 


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MICROCOPY    RESOLUTION   TEST   CHART 

I  ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


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Two  Shall, Be  Born 


Theodore  Gootlrid^e  Roberts 


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TWO 
SHALL  BE 

BORN 


By 

THEODORE  GOODRIDGE  ROBERTS 

AUTHOR   OF 
"a    cavalier   of   VIRGINIA" 

"hemming,  the  adventurer" 
"brothers  of  peril,"   eti". 


New  York 

CASSELL  &  COMPANY 

1913 


x: 


-...^-i-r 


2. 


Copyright,  1913,  by 
CASSELL  &  COMPANY 


CONTENTS 

CBAFTEB  ,^0« 

I.  The  Return 1 

II.  The  Last  Town 14 

III.  The  Journey  to  Two  Moose      ....  25 

IV.  A  Ride  in  the  Park 33 

V.  "The  Prettiest  Girl  in  the  Province"  51 

VI.  Twenty  Thousand  Acres 75 

VII,  A  Letter  is  Burned gg 

VIII.  The  Sneak-Thief 108 

IX.  Another  Letter  and  Its  Fate  .     .     .     .127 

X.  Who  Knifed  Pierre.'' 142 

XI.  A  Factor's  Story 157 

XII.  The  Gordons  Go  North 171 

XIII.  David  Finds  a  Doctor 134 

XIV.  Who  Returns  to  Two  Moose    ....  200 

XV.  The  Call  of  the  Corporal 216 

XVI.  A  Stranger  Visits  Two  Moose   ....  227 

XVII.  JoicE  AND  Dorothy 340 

XVIII.  The  Comino  of  Spring 353 

XIX.  David  Makes  a  Resolution 263 

XX.  "Up  Stream  oh  Down.''" 273 

XXI.  The    Canoe 284 

XXII.  A  Fight  to  the  Finish 295 

XXIII.  "You  are  a  Dub" 305 

XXIV.  Understanding  at  Last 812 


;>t^'^ 


Ol-H 


.^^ 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 

CHAPTER  i 

THE   BETUBN 

Mr.  David  Westley  had  been  gradaated  from 
the  army  of  successful  toilers  for  the  period  of 
two  generations  of  men.  He  was  wealthy  and 
fashionable — and  seemingly  useless.  Had  he 
been  an  Englishman,  with  the  wealth,  ability,  and 
masterful  spirit  that  were  his,  he  would  doubtless 
have  been  in  command  of  some  huge  and  barbaric 
district  somewhere  on  some  frontier  of  that 
sprawling  empire.  But  he  was  an  American,  of 
New  York,  bom  to  wealth,  with  no  taste  for  the 
trade  of  his  fathers  or  the  politics  of  his  country- 
men. He  knew  the  world  as  his  father  had 
known  Wall  Street;  and  stories  of  his  prowess 
as  a  slayer  of  big  game  were  told  at  meuiy  camp- 
fires,  in  the  billiard-rooms  of  English  houses,  in 
city  clubs,  and  on  the  decks  of  ships.  He  was 
popular  with  his  friends,  but  not  with  mere 
acquaintances. 

Westley  was  just  home  from  Scotland,  where 
he  bad  been  deer-stalking  with  the  MacLeam,  an 

1 


$^ 


2  TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 

impecunious  chieftain.  Though  only  thirty  years 
of  age,  he  found  that  he  had  outgrown  the  some- 
what mild  excitement  of  stalking  highland  deer. 

Somewhat  low  in  spirits,  he  had  made  his 
homeward  voyage  ahoard  a  small  and  unfash- 
ionable vessel  sailing  from  a  Scotch  port  Dur- 
ing the  voyage  he  had  heard  some  talk  that  had 
not  improved  Lis  humor.  There  were  a  couple 
of  young  fellows  aboard  whom  he  did  not  know, 
but  who  evidently  knew  a  good  deal  about  him 
and  his  friends.  He  overheard  fragments  of 
their  conversation  in  the  deck  smoking-room. 

"Joiee  is  a  mighty  decent  chap,"  said  one. 
"Oh,  yes,  he  has  nerve.  But  why  shouldn't  he 
cut  in?  Dorothy  Gordon  is  not  such  a  huge 
eaten,  after  all,  barring  her  looks.  Joice's  people 
in  Yorkshire  could  buy  up  old  Got  Ion  to-mor- 
row without  having  to  sell  any  of  their  farms  or 
dismiss  any  of  their  servants." 

"But  that  Yorkshire  property  isn't  Walter 
Joice's,"  objected  the  other  young  man,  produc- 
ing a  fat  cigarette  from  a  fat  case. 

"A  good  half  of  it  shall  be  his  some  day," 
returned  hi«  friend.  "But  what  has  that  to  do 
with  it,  anyway?  If  he  is  keen  on  the  girl,  and 
Westley  isn't,  and  the  girl  chooses  to  change  her 
mind,  surely  he  has  a  right  to  make  the  most  of 
it." 

"Well,  it's  all  the  same  to  me.  I  don't  want 
to  marry  her.    We  saw  a  good  deal  of  her  in 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 


8 


London,  and  of  Joice,  too.  What  sort  is  West- 
ley  T  I  saw  him  once  or  twice  before  this  trip; 
but  he  is  older  than  I  am,  and  having  about  ten 
millions  more  than  my  old  man,  circles  some 
five  degrees  higher  in  the  social  blue  of  New 
York." 

"I  don't  know  any  more  about  him  than  you 
do.  Why  should  IT  I've  heard  that  he  is  a 
good  shot,  can  carry  a  forty-pound  pack  all  day 
in  a  rough  country,  and  is  possessed  of  more 
ability  than  his  circumstances  call  for.  I  have 
heard  some  talk  of  his  extraordinary  courage, 
too.  Self-contained  sort  of  Johnny,  I  gather. 
He  is  certainly  keeping  to  himself  this  trip." 

Westley,  who  had  been  lighting  his  pipe  close 
to  the  open  door  of  the  smoking-room,  on  the  lee 
side  of  the  ship,  turned  and  walked  away.  He 
felt  more  depressed  than  ever,  angry,  and 
ashamed.  The  Dorothy  Gordon  of  whom  the 
young  men  had  spoken  was  the  woman  he  loved. 
For  the  past  two  years  they  bad  been  engaged. 
Captain  Walter  Joice,  D.S.O.,  late  of  the  York- 
shire Light  Infantry,  was  an  English  soldier  and 
explorer  whom  he  had  met  in  several  parts  of 
the  world. 

He  began  to  brood  over  what  he  had  heard 
concerning  Dorothy  and  Joice.  The  more  he 
brooded  the  gloomier  he  became.  All  that  the 
young  men  had  said  about  Joice  was  undoubt- 
edly true.     The  Englishman   would   be   rich 


4         TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 

enough  some  day ;  and  hia  position  in  Yorkshire 
and  the  world  at  large — independent  of  money 
and  partly  of  his  own  making  and  partly  in- 
herited from  generations  of  distinguished  an- 
cestors— was  a  thing  millions  could  not  buy. 

Westley  knew  this.  He  reflected  that  he 
should  have  been  in  London;  that  he  should 
have  forced  Dorothy  to  fix  a  date  for  the 
wedding;  that  he  should  have  made  surer  of 
her  love  before  taking  too  much  for  granted. 
He  had  underestimated  Captain  Joice*s  at- 
tractions. But  after  all,  ten  to  one  there 
was  nothing  to  worry  about.  This  thing  he  had 
heard  in  the  smoking-room  was,  very  likely,  a 
pipe-dream. 

He  made  himself  imusually  agreeable  to  the 
two  youths  whose  conversation  he  had  over- 
heard, and  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  that 
they  had  altered  their  impression  of  him  for  the 
better.  But  his  homeward  trip  to  New  York  was 
a  dreary  affair. 

Dorothy  Gordon  and  her  mother  reached  New 
York  ten  days  ahead  of  David  Wescley.  Cap- 
tain Joice  crossed  with  the  Gordons ;  but  West- 
ley  did  not  know  this.  Westley  did  not  know  that 
Joice  was  in  New  York  until  he  met  him  at  one 
of  his  clubs  on  the  afternoon  of  the  day  of  his 
arrival.  It  was  nearly  a  year  since  the  two  men 
had  last  met.  They  shook  hands  and  looked 
steadily,  with  veiled  inquiry,  into  one  another's 


TWO   SHALL   ^E   BORN  5 

eyes.    Westley  remarked  that  this  was  an  tmez- 
pected  pleasure. 

"Same  here,"  said  Joice.  "I  heard  that  you 
were  in  Scotland,  with  the  MacLeam.  It  used 
to  be  MacLearn's  boast  that  he  never  let  a  low- 
lander  escape  from  his  mountain  fastnesses  be- 
fore Christmas." 

Westley  laughed  pleasantly  and  replied  that 
he  had  given  the  chief  the  slip  eaaily  enough. 
He  then  excused  himself  to  the  Englishman,  and 
telephoned  to  Dorothy.    He  failed  to  detect  any- 
thing in  the  tone  of  her  voice  to  indicate  a  guilty 
conscience.    She  said,  quite  naturally,  that  she 
was  delighted  to  know  tiiat  he  was  home  again. 
He  asked  if  he  might  call  immediately,  and  she 
replied  that  she  would  be  delighted  to  see  him. 
Westley's  car  was  waiting  for  him  in  front  of 
the  dub.    On  his  way  to  it,  half-way  down  the 
steps  of  the  clubhouse,  ho  became  the  victim  of 
one  of  those  amazing  blind  throws  of  chance 
which  so  frequently  make  and  mar  the  lives  of 
men.    He  came  face  to  face  with  a  gentleman 
ascending  the  steps.    A  side-glance  awoke  old 
memories  in  him.    He  halted. 

"Hallo!"  he  exclaimed.    "What's  the  matter 
with  the  Sultan?" 

The  other  grasped  Westley's  hand  and  clapped 
him  on  the  shoulder. 

"Bless  my  soul,  it's  Dave  Westley!"  he  cried. 
"Well,  this  is  luck.    Eight  years  since  I  last  set 


6 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 


eyes  on  yon,  Dave.  Oh,  the  Snltan  is  all  right; 
though  he  doesn't  happen  to  he  the  same  Sultan 
whom  I  commenced  doing  business  with.  I'm 
taking  a  holiday — ^the  first  for  eight  years.  On 
my  way  across  from  Liverpool  it  made  me  feel 
quite  ill  to  hear  that  you  were  in  Scotland,  Dave. 
But  this  is  luck  1" 

"It's  a  treat  to  see  you,  Dick,**  replied  Westley. 
"I'm  in  a  rush  now ;  but  will  you  dine  with  me 
to-night.    Meet  me  here  at  eight  o'clock." 

"Right  you  are,"  returned  Mr.  Richard  Starr, 
the  power  behind  a  certain  third-rate  Eastern 
throne. 

"By  the  way,  Dick,  who  told  you  that  I  had 
been  in  Scotland?" 

"I  heard  it  aboard  the  boat.  Do  you  remember 
the  girl  we  were  both  after  when  we  were 
youngsters — Dorothy  GortlonI" 

"Yes,  I  remember  her  very  well." 

"She  told  me.  She  was  aboard  witii  her  aunt 
And  there  was  a  might'  decent  chap  called  Joice 
aboard,  too,  who  seems  to  have  cut  us  both  out 
Gad,  she  has  more  than  fulfilled  her  promises. 
She's  a  queen!  If  I  hadn't  this  dashed  Sultan 
on  my  shoulders  I'd  settle  right  down  here  and 
try  to  put  the  kibosh  on  the  Englishman." 

"Eight  o'clock,"  said  Westley,  and  ran  down 
the  wide  steps. 

For  a  minute  David  Westley  leaned  back  in 
his  rushing  car,  faint  and  dazed.    Then  his  in- 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN  7 

jnred  pride  asserted  itself,  clouded  his  grief,  and 
steadied  him. 

He  lit  a  cigarette  and  tried  to  think  calmly. 
He  was  cut  to  the  quick,  heart;  and  spirit,  and  the 
houses  and  people  of  the  city  swept  behind  him 
on  either  hand  in  a  blur  of  stupid  windows  and 
silly,  mocking  faces.  He  remembered  that  there 
had  been  another  before  him — a  man  whom  he 
knew  only  slightly,  less  wealthy,  and  weaker  than 
himself.    He  had  also  loved  Dorothy. 

He  drove  to  Mr.  Gordon's  house,  and  had  not 
long  to  wait  for  Dorothy.  She  entered  the  room 
with  both  hands  extended,  but  with  a  light  of 
inquiry,  rather  than  of  welcome,  in  her  eyes. 
There  was  bomething  half  furtive,  half  fearful, 
in  her  look.  At  sight  of  his  pale  cheeks  and  set 
jaw,  her  beautiful,  small  face  flushed  pink. 

Westley  stood  up.  He  did  not  advance,  and 
he  ignored  her  hands.  She  halted  within  a  yard 
of  him  and  let  her  hands  drop  to  her  sides. 

"You  might  have  let  me  know,"  he  said,  his 
voice  very  low  and  even  more  toneless  than 
usual.  "I  think  you  owed  that  much  to  me  as 
well  as  to  yourself.  It  is  hard  on  a  man's  pride, 
to  say  the  least,  to  discover  the  fact  that  he  has 
been  thrown  over  from  the  talk  of  public  places. 
I  think  I  may  even  venture  to  say  that  it  is 
hardly  fair  to  my  successor.  Captain  Joioe." 

Dorothy  trembled,  and  many  poignant  and 
conflicting  emotions  were  flashed  and  shadowed 


8 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 


in  her  face.  She  replied,  with  an  evident  effort 
to  control  her  voice. 

"I  understand,*'  she  said.  *'It  is  you  who  do 
not  understand — ^who  have  always  failed  to  un- 
derstand. You  speak  of  your  pride ;  but  it  seems 
that  you  have  never  credited  me  with  the  same 
virtue.  By  what  social  or  moral  canon  is  it  com- 
pulsory that  I  should  notify  you  whenever  I 
meet  a  friend  or  happen  to  cross  the  Atlantic  in 
the  same  ship  wilh  onet  Have  you  kept  me  so 
well  informed  concerning  the  incidents  of  your 
sojourns  in  Asia,  in  Africa,  in  Scotland?  Sure- 
ly if  you  were  so  jealous  of  my  actions  you  might 
have  forsaken  your  sport  in  Scotland  for  a  little 
while  and  visited  us  in  London." 

Westley  laughed  unpleasantly. 

"I  am  not  blind  to  the  fact  that  I  have  been  a 
fool,"  he  said. 

"I  have  not  said  so,"  returned  the  girl.  "You 
are  too  self-centered — too  confident — too  careless 
about  the  feelings  of  others.  If  I  have  taught 
you  a  lesson  in  the  consideration  of  others,  I  am 
glad." 

"A  lesson?"  queried  Westley.  "I  am  in  no 
mood  to  shy  at  a  name.  The  substance  of  the 
lesson  is  what  matters — and  you  have  certainly 
taught  me  most  successfully  to  despise  both  you 
and  myself — ^you  for  your  heartlessness  and 
worldly  wisdom  and  myself  for  my  stupidity.  I 
have  now  the  honor  to  inform  you  that  I  consider 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 


9 


myself  removed  from  the  sphere  of  your  instruo- 
tions." 

The  girl's  face  went  white  as  paper  at  this. 

"Are  you  so  utterly  blind t"  she  whispered. 
And  then,  "But  think  a  moment — think.  What 
do  you  really  meant" 

"No  amount  of  thought  can  make  my  meaning 
clearer,"  he  replied.  "I  retire,  shaken  but  en- 
lightened, before  Captain  Joice's  higher  bid,  hav- 
ing already  offered  to  the  limit  of  my  resources." 

"Coward !"  cried  the  girl  in  a  choked  voice. 

"Hardly  that,  I  think,"  said  Westley.  "You 
forget  your  young  brother." 

He  bowed  and  left  the  room  and  the  house. 

Dorothy  stood  for  a  minute,  her  hands 
clenched,  her  eyes  ablaze,  white  with  anger  and 
outraged  pride,  remorse,  and  self-pity.  Misun- 
derstood and  misjudged — surely  her  cup  was 
full.  But  to  be  named  an  adventuress — to  be 
insulted  so  in  her  father's  house — and  by  David 
Westley!  Fear  shook  her,  for  if  he  love;  her 
he  should  have  known.  Love  is  blind  only  in 
that  it  sees  with  the  eyes  of  the  loved  one.  A 
wave  of  disgust  with  herself  went  through  her, 
hotter  than  fire  in  her  veir-: 

She  swayed,  groping  blindly  for  support.  She 
had  called  him  a  coward — and  yet  he  had  risked 
his  life  for  Tom's  two  years  ago  in  Africa.  Gray 
and  black  shadows  enwound  her;  the  chimes  of 
a  thousand  distant  belfries  struck  faint  and  thin. 


10        TWO    SHALL   BE    BORN 


but  with  infinite  confusion,  upon  her  ears.  She 
fell  close  beside  and  beneath  the  little  table,  the 
legs  of  which  tenninated  in  knuckled  claws  of 
brass. 

And  so  her  maid  found  her  ten  minutes  later, 
colorless,  motionless,  with  a  purple  bruise  above 
her  left  temple. 

There  was  a  rumpus  in  the  house  of  John 
Angus  Gordon.  If  John  Angus  was  a  hard 
man,  he  was  also  a  hot  one.  In  his  veins  coursed 
his  racy  Scotch  blood. 

John  Angus  had  known  of  Westley's  visit ;  and 
now,  in  the  first  wave  of  hubbub  and  excitement 
which  convulsed  the  house  of  Gordon,  he  was 
confronted  by  the  unmistakable  mark  of  a  blow 
upon  his  daughter's  brow.  For  a  minute  there 
was  murder  in  his  eye,  but  Dorothy,  reviving 
quickly  under  cold  water,  sat  up  and  read  the 
intention  in  his  eye.  She  dismissed  the  servants, 
then  arose,  crossed  the  room  unsteadily  and 
locked  the  door. 

"I  fainted,  daddy,"  she  said.  "I  fell  over  there 
and  must  have  hit  my  head  against  the  foot  of 
the  table,  but  now  I  feel  quite  well." 

She  sank  weakly  into  a  chair.  Her  eyes  be- 
came suddenly  moist.  She  laughed  a  little  and 
held  a  hand  to  her  eyes.  Her  father  glared  down 
at  her,  his  hard  face  twisted  with  concern  and 
rage. 

"Where's  that  pup?"  he  demanded.    "Cleared 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN        11 

out,  you  may  be  sure!  Fainted,  you  say! — and 
fell  against  the  table?  D'ye  think  I  don't  know 
the  mark  of  a  coward's  knuckle,  my  girl?  Oh, 
I  knew  there'd  be  a  rumpus,  the  way  you  carried 
on  with  the  Englishman,  but  may  the  fiend  take 
me  if  I  thought  David  Westley  would  lift  his 
fist  to  a  woman !  Let  him  pitch  into  the  English- 
man if  he  feels  so  mad — and  get  his  own  face 
punched,  by  Heaven!  Where  is  he  now?  I'll 
fix  him.  Big  and  young  as  he  is,  and  worth  ten 
millions  to  my  one,  I'll  show  him  that  the  man 
who  strikes  my  girl  had  better  order  his  coffin 
first." 

"Daddy,  you  are  crazy,"  exclaimed  Dorothy. 
"David  did  not  strike  me.  I  fainted  and  hurt 
myself — as  I  have  told  you.  My  dear  daddy,  do 
you  honestly  think  that  men  like  David  would 
strike  any  woman?  And  do  I  ever  tell  untruths? 
You  have  a  very  hot,  foolish  temper,  dear.  You 
forget  that  David  is  a  man.  You  forget  what 
you  owe  him." 

Gordon  glared  around  him  uneasily. 

"No,  I  don't  forget  that,"  he  said.  "But  that 
gives  him  no  right  to — to  think  that  he  can  treat 
you— like  this.  I'll  not  stand  for  it  I  What  was 
the  row  about?" 

"It  was  not  worth  calling  a  row,"  replied  Doro- 
thy. "He  was  angry  about  Captain  Joice — as  I 
had  intended  him  to  be — and  we  had  a  little  spat. 
That  is  all,  daddy.    He  has  learned  a  lesson." 


12        TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 

"This  concerns  me,"  said  John  Angus.  "I  am 
still  your  father — ^yes,  and  I've  done  my  best  to 
be  a  mother  to  you  as  well,  ever  since  you  were 
ten  years  old.  I've  done  my  best,  Dot.  I've  been 
a  good  father;  but,  as  God  knows,  a  poor  mother! 
I'll  call  on  Westley  now.  I'll  have  a  little  fath- 
erly talk  with  him." 

Dorothy  stood  up  and  put  her  hands  on  his 
shoulders. 

"You  have  always  been  the  kindest  and  dear- 
est of  fathers,"  she  said,  "and  now  you  will  not 
do  anything  to  hurt  me.  Please,  please  say 
nothing  to  David  about  his  visit  He  has  done 
nothing  that  calls — for  you  to  talk  to  him.  We 
were  both  angry.  It  was  nothing  but  a  spat, 
daddy.  Think  of  my  feelings — and  of  your  own 
pride." 

"And  what  about  young  Joice's  feelings?" 
asked  Gordon.  "I  like  that  fellow;  and,  by 
Heaven,  it  makes  me  sore  to  hear  that  he  has 
been  used  to  teach  any  man  a  lesson.  I  suppose 
that's  wha'  you  used  him  for?  My  girl,  that's  a 
low  game.  No  woman  has  any  light  to  make  use 
of  a  straight,  simple,  dean-bred  chap  like  Walter 
Joice." 

"But  he  understands,"  returned  the  girl,  in 
distress.  "We — we  are  nothing  but  very  good 
friends,  daddy.  It — it  is  unkind  of  you  to  speak 
as  if  I  had  done  something — something  dishon- 
orable.    Captain  Joice  understands.     We  are 


1 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN        18 

only  good  friends.   He  knows  that  I  am  engaged 
to  David — and  he  is  a  friend  of  David." 

"So  you  think,"  said  her  father.  "He's  that 
kind,  of  course;  he'd  just  grin  and  stand  for 
anything.  But  I  know  more  about  men  than  you 
do,  my  girl.  There,  there,  don't  cry.  I'll  leave 
David  alone.  I'll  let  him  get  over  his  tantrums 
the  best  way  he  can.    I  am  sorry  for  Joice." 


ii.i-.    ; 


.:■    '.'I'-.vi-t 


I      i 


CHAPTER  II 


THE  LAST  TOWN 


;   1 


David  Westley  returned  to  his  club,  nod- 
ded to  half  a  dozen  men  whom  he  knew,  me- 
chanically gave  up  his  hat  and  coat  and  thrust 
the  metal  check  in  his  pocket,  sat  down  in  his 
favorite  chair  in  his  favorite  room,  and  unfolded 
the  paper  that  happened  to  lie  nearest  to  his 
hand. 

He  read  for  fifteen  minutes,  blindly,  with  his 
eyes  only.  Suddenly  he  laid  aside  the  paper 
and  rang  a  bell  at  his  elbow.  He  ordered  a 
Scotch-and-soda  and  a  C.  P.  R.  time-table.  After 
a  minute's  examination  of  the  time-table  he 
sprang  to  his  feet  and  left  the  room,  and  the 
drink  untouched.  His  own  car  had  been  dis- 
missed. A  taxi  was  summoned.  He  jumped  in 
and  gave  the  address  of  his  own  house,  a  gro- 
tesque tower  of  a  place  which,  though  only 
thirty  years  old,  bulged  upon  the  thoroughfare 
with  Moorish  doorways  and  Gothic  windows, 
Norman  battlements  and  Roman  porches. 

David  did  not  admire  the  architectural  qual- 
ities of  the  house  which  his  father  had  built;  but 

14 


i. 


tTTTTTT    Afttt?^'  *^ik">v 


^^fflP 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN        15 

on  this  occasion  he  ran  up  the  imposing  steps 
and  rang  the  bell  without  a  glance  to  right  or 
left.  He  was  too  intent  on  getting  inside  imme- 
diately even  to  search  through  his  pockets  for 
his  latch-key.  The  ornate  door  was  opened 
promptly  by  Hush,  his  valet.  Hush  was  a  mid- 
dle-aged person,  entirely  correct  and  clean- 
shaven, and  perfectly  in  tune  with  his  name.  He 
opened  the  door  because  he  was  the  only  servant 
in  the  great  house.  He  and  his  master  were  the 
only  occupants  of  the  house,  for  that  matter. 
During  the  greater  part  of  every  year  the  house 
was  as  empty  as  a  drum.  Only  four  of  the  vast 
and  shapeless  rooms  were  furnished. 

"You  must  pack  a  couple  of  boxes,"  said 
Westley.  "I'll  help  you,  Hush;  for  I  want  a 
selection,  and  am  in  a  hurry." 

"Very  good,  sir,"  replied  Hush  in  a  voice 
scarcely  stronger  than  a  whisper. 

Westley  went  up  a  flight  of  stairs  four  steps 
at  a  time.  The  valet  followed  at  a  swift  but  re- 
spectful gait.  The  leather  trunks,  so  recently 
come  to  rest  from  their  Atlantic  crossing, 
stood  in  a  row  in  the  dressing-room,  already  un- 
strapped and  unpacked. 

But  Hush  had  not  yet  had  time  to  sort  and  put 
away  his  master's  elaborate  outfit.  Garments  of 
every  variety  lay  about  in  heaps.  Dozens  of 
boots  and  shoes,  each  with  a  tree  of  yellow  wood, 
stood  on  the  floor,  toeing  this  way  and  that,  like 


^^BB^T? 


16        TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 


a  disembodied  militia  company  in  line.  Westley 
pointed  to  two  cabin  trunks. 

"Those  two  boxes  will  hold  all  that  I'll  need 
out  of  this  kit,"  he  said.  "You  pack,  Hush,  as  I 
name  the  articles  I  want." 

The  work  progressed  for  ten  minutes  in  si- 
lencje. 

"I  must  leave  you,  Hush,"  said  Westley.  "I 
have  to  dine  with  a  friend.  I'll  be  back  by  ten, 
in  time  to  catch  the  ten-thirty  express  for  Bos- 
ton. Keep  right  on  with  the  packing.  Don't  put 
in  anything  that  I  won't  need — and  don't  forget 
my  guns." 

"Very  good,  sir,"  replied  the  valet.  "But 
may  I  ask  where  you  are  going,  sir,  so  as  to  have 
some  idea  of  what  articles  you  may  require?" 

Westley  was  already  undressing,  preparatory 
to  changing  into  evening  clothes.  For  several 
seconds  he  stood  with  his  shirt  half  off,  at  a  loss 
for  an  arswer. 

"Into  the  woods,"  he  said  at  last. 

"Yes,  sir.    North  or  south,  sir?" 

"North — though  it  does  not  ma^cer.  Yes,  I 
am  going  north.  Hush — a  long  way  north." 

"Very  good,  sir ;  I'll  have  your  things  and  my 
own  all  ready  by  ten  o'clock,  sir,  and  the  car  or- 
dered to  take  us  to  the  station." 

'•But  I'm  not  taking  you  this  trip,  Hush.  You 
must  stay  here  and  keep  house.  There'll  be  a 
good  many  things  for  you  to  attend  to  for  me. 


■^r 


^PT 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN        17 


as  I  had  not  intended  to  leave  New  York  so  soon 
until — until  a  few  hours  ago." 

"Very  good,  sir,"  replied  Hush.  "Nothing  has 
gone  wrong  with  your  affairs,  sir,  I  hope?" 

"Nothing,  Hush,  I  assure  you,"  answered 
Westley,  with  a  slow  and  somewhat  labored 
smile.  "My  affairs  are  in  the  pink  of  condi- 
tion." 

"Thank  Heaven  for  that  I '  breathed  Hush.  He 
loved  David  Westley — with  cause. 

Westley  completed  his  toilet  quickly.  He 
found  Starr  awaiting  him  at  the  club.  During 
I  the  dinner  Starr's  talk  was  reminiscent  and 
slightly  sentimental.  With  the  coffee,  however, 
his  eyes  brightened  and  his  manner  became 
briskej*. 

"My  rest-cure  is  at  an  end,"  said  he.  "I  sail 
again  to-morrow." 

"What's  the  trouble?"  asked  Westley. 

"I've  received  a  cable  from  my  Sultan.  The 
poor  chap  thinks  that  some  of  his  faithful  sub- 
jects are  working  up  a  little  game  on  him  with 
the  object  in  view  of  depriving  him  of  his  throne. 
He  wants  me  to  come  back  quick  and  hold  him 
down  in  his  seat." 

"Dick,  you  are  a  remarkable  man,"  said  West- 
ley.  "You  talk  of  making  Sultans  as  I  might 
talk  of  making — ^well,  mistakes.  Mistakes  are 
the  ODly  things  I've  ever  made,  I  think." 

"My  first  Sultan  was  a  mistake,"  said  Starr. 


^iW^fi-^WHP'^t^ 


mrnn 


'  I 


18        TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 

Westley  smiled.  "I'm  off,  too,"  he  said.  "I'm 
going  north  to-night." 

"North!    What  fori" 

"Oh,  sport!  It  must  be  three  years  since  I 
shot  my  last  moose." 

"Moose,"  repeated  Starr,  shaking  his  head. 
"David,  I  am  sorry  for  you.  Moose  are  all  very 
well,  in  their  way,  and  the  shooting  of  them  is 
fair  sport ;  but,  as  the  sole  occupation  of  a  life- 
time, I  think  mighty'  little  of  it.  You  do  not  con- 
fine your  attention  to  moose,  I  know;  but  ele- 
phants and  lions  do  not  save  you.  Sport  is  sport, 
my  boy — and  a  man's  work  in  life  is  quite  an- 
other thing.  It  is  in  you.  By  the  way,  didn't 
you  save  a  man  from  drowning  once,  on  the 
Thames — and  very  nearly  croak  yourself?" 

Westley  smiled.  "You  are  right,  Dick,"  he 
said.  "Heaven  knoT^  I  am  not  proud  of  myself. 
Dozens  of  chaps  I  know  are  better  sportsmen 
than  I  am ;  and  yet  tb  y  find  time  and  energy  to 
rule  provinces,  command  regiments,  and  write 
books  on  the  side.  As  to  saving  a  man  from 
drowning — well,  that  only  requires  ability  to 
swim.  The  chap  I  pulled  out  of  the  Thames  was 
James  Hush.    He  is  now  my  valet." 

"Come  with  me,"  invited  Starr.  "You  are  just 
the  man  I  need  for  a  partner." 

David  shook  his  head.  "Unmaking  Sultans 
would  be  more  to  my  taste  than  making  them,  I 
fear,"  he  said.    "No,  Dick ;  I'm  going  north  now. 


•!  I 


mwBiBmp^* 


mm 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN        19 


'I 


I  have  never  yet  forsaken  a  trip  that  I  have 
planned.  That  characteristic  is  something  to  my 
credit,  I  suppose." 

They  parted  half  an  hour  later.  Westley  re- 
turned to  his  house,  and  found  the  boxes  and 
gun-cases  packed  and  standing  in  the  lower  hall 
and  the  car  waiting.  Half  an  hour  later  he  was 
off  on  the  first  stage  of  his  northward  journey. 
From  Quebec  he  despatched  a  wire  to  the  post- 
master of  the  last  town  to  the  north.  Twenty 
hours  later  he  reached  the  last  town,  sent  his 
boxes  and  gun-cases  to  the  best  hotel,  and  called 
on  the  postmaster. 

"I've  found  the  right  man  for  you,"  said  the 
official.  "Pierre  MacKim  is  his  name,  an'  he 
hails  from  the  Smoky  River  country,  to  the  nor*- 
east.  He  come  to  town  to  make  a  dicker  with  old 
Ferguson  for  his  nex'  season's  take  of  furs. 
Just  happened  to  catch  him.  He  was  intendin' 
to  start  back  this  momin' ;  but  I  got  him  to  wait 
for  you.  You'll  find  him  at  Bert's  Hotel  this 
minute,  I  guess.  Lookin'  over  timber  lands,  I 
take  it,  mister!" 

"No;  moose,"  replied  Westley. 

"Well,  sir,"  replied  the  o^her,  "the  moose  will 
fair  tromp  on  you  in  the  Smoky  River  country. 
Much  obliged.  You'll  find  Pierre  Mackim  a 
smart  feller." 

David  Westley  found  Bert's  Hotel  to  be  an  ob- 
scure tavern  on  a  back  street  of  the  town.    The 


T 


20        TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 

wall  of  the  house,  beneath  the  narrow  roof  of 
the  front  veranda,  was  decoiated  with  the  antlers 
and  heads  of  moose,  caribou,  and  deer. 

A  dozen  men  sat  on  the  veranda,  their  chairs 
tipped  backward  and  their  feet  up  against  the 
posts  which  supported  the  roof.  Some  smoked 
while  others  "chawed."  Some  wore  blanket 
jumpers,  and  others  sat  in  their  shirt-sleeves. 
From  within,  through  a  window  to  the  left  of  the 
front  door,  came  a  hum  of  voices,  and  at  times 
a  weedy  effort  at  song. 

"Can  you  tell  me  if  Pierre  MacKim  is  in  this 
house?"  asked  David. 

The  men  on  the  veranda  stared  at  him  lazily 
for  a  few  seconds  in  silence.  Several  of  them 
spat  elaborately. 

"Maybe  ye'li  find  him  inside,"  said  one  down 
the  stem  of  his  pipe. 

Westley  entered  the  hou  and  opened  the  door 
on  the  left.  He  found  him.  .If  in  a  foul-smelling, 
crowded,  dingy  room.  The  floor  was  speckled 
and  spattered  with  tobacco- juice.  The  eyes  of 
the  inmates  were  glaring,  lower  jaws  were  hang- 
ing, feet  were  scuffling  belligerently  on  the  filthy 
floor,  and  curses  and  oaths  were  flying  and  set- 
tling like  a  swarm  of  flies.  And  it  was  no  later 
than  mid-afternoon.  Westley  read  the  signs  of 
the  place  at  a  glance. 
"Is   Pierre   MacKim   here?"   he   asked   loud 


■ff- 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN        21 


enough  to  carrv  above  the  racket,  even  to  the 
farthest  cornei  .    the  room. 

The  ramult  ebbed  to  half  its  volume.  A  score 
of  heated,  weather-stained  faces  were  turned  to 
the  newcomer.  Those  employed  there  looked  up 
from  their  work  with  that  in  their  eyes  sugges- 
tive of  savage  dogs  looking  up  from  half-gnawed 
bones. 

"He  ain't  here,"  said  one  of  these.  "Left  an 
hour  ago." 

"Here  I  am,  mister,"  came  a  faint  voice  from 
the  midst  of  the  crowd  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
room. 

Then  the  tumult  flooded  up  again,  full  tide. 
Westley  had  heard  the  faint  and  somewhat 
muffled  voice.  He  moved  toward  it,  returning 
the  furious  glaring  of  th:  jaanager  with  a  chilly 
stare. 

"Are  you  there,  MacKim?"  he  demanded. 
"Come  out.    I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

Westley  made  his  way  through  the  throng  with 
difficulty.  Several  opposed  his  passage.  He  laid 
them  flat,  with  face  set  and  pale. 

"Git  out  of  here,  you!"  yelled  the  manager. 
"We  don't  allow  no  fightin'  an'  rough-house  here. 
Git  out  an'  mind  yer  own  business !" 

The  knot  of  men  at  the  end  of  the  room  from 
which  the  faint  voice  had  sounded  was  now  heav- 
ing and  twisting    like    a    bootball  scrimmage. 


22       TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 

Westley  ignored  the  words  of  the  manager, 
reached  the  crowd,  and  tore  it  apart.    He  found 
the  core  to  consist  of  a  slender  young  man  in 
the  grasp  of  two  stalwart  ruffians.    The  young 
man's  face  was  thin  and  swarthy,  but  strangely 
attractive.  He  struggled  desperately,  though  his 
arms  were  pinned  to  his  sides,  and  a  thin  trickle 
of  blood  crept  down  from  a  wound  above  his 
right  eyebrow. 
"Help,  mister— help  1"  he  cried. 
Though  David  Westley  had  played  all  his  life, 
he  had  played  at  games  demanding  strength, 
skill,  and  endurance— yes,  and  courage.     And 
beneath  a  calm  surface  and  quiet  manner  his 
temper  was  hot  and  quick.    At  college  he  had 
been  the  strongest  man  in  his  year;  but  he  was 
stronger  now. 

He  jumped  forward,  gripped  one  of  the  men 
who  held  MacKim,  and  yanked  him  away  so 
violently  that  he  reeled  across  the  room  and 
brought  up  against  the  wall  with  a  thump.  At 
that  a  threatening  roar  went  up,  and  a  dozen  men 
hurled  themselves  unsteadily  at  Westley.  They 
were  unarmed,  however.  Westley,  cool,  big, 
powerful,  and  skilled  in  boxing,  sent  them 
spinning  and  sprawling  by  twos  and  threes.  He 
kept  a  sharp  lookout  for  knives;  but  the  few 
that  were  drawn  proved  harmless  in  the  uncer- 
tain grasp  of  their  tipsy  owners. 
The  manager  and  clerk  were  sober,  however. 


^SfW^^^^^r 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN        28 

They  came  up  and  rushed  at  David.  Both 
reached  him,  one  bringing  his  jaw  in  contact  with 
the  stranger's  right  fist,  and  the  other  his  eye 
in  contact  with  the  stranger's  left.  One  struggled 
to  his  feet;  but  a  kick  from  a  Frenchman,  in- 
tended for  David,  encountered  him  in  the  middle 
of  his  waistcoat  and  put  him  out  of  business  for 
the  balance  of  the  day. 

David  Westley  and  Pierre  MacKim  left  the 
scene  of  confusion  at  the  earliest  opportunity. 
The  woodsman  staggered  as  he  walked. 

"So  you  are  MacKim,  the  man  who  is  going 
to  take  me  into  the  Smoky  River  country!"  said 
David,  glancing  keenly  at  his  companion  and 
sucking  a  skinned  knuckle  before  replacing  his 
glove. 

**j.e8,  mister,  I'm  Pierre  MacKim,  a  trapper 
for  Two  Moose  House,  up  in  that  big  country," 
replied  the  other.  "You  come  along  'bout  the 
right  time,  niister,  for  Pierre  MacKim.  I  thanks 
you." 

"You  seemed  to  be  in  a  bad  way,  certainly," 
said  the  New  Yorker.  "What  were  you  fight- 
ing about?  How  did  you  come  by  that  cut  on 
the  head?" 

"Them  fellers  try  for  to  make  me  drunk  and 
take  my  money.  Bad  joint,  that  Bert's  Hotel. 
I  go  in  by  accident  to  talk  to  one  man  from  Wil- 
low River,  where  I  trap  one  winter  with  him, 
long  time  ago ;  but  my  friend  not  there,  and  those 


liPPfP" 


4 


24        TWO    SHALL   BE    BORN 

fellers  git  me  au'  pretend  great  friendship.  They 
knew,  maybe,  I  have  some  money  on  me  old 
Ferguson  owe  to  me  all  summer.  I  get  one  crack 
on  the  head ;  then  they  take  holt  of  me ;  then  they 
all  crowd  round  tight,  some  to  get  a  share  of 
my  money  an'  some  because  they  don't  know. 
Then  you  come  in,  mister,  an'  say  my  name  so 
it  sound  mighty  good  to  me ;  an'  that  wake  me  up 
so  I  answer,  an'  feel  better  an'  commence  to 

fight." 

"Well,  Pierre,  I'm  glad  I  happened  along  in 
time  to  be  of  some  use  to  you,"  said  Westley. 
"That  Bert's  is  a  rough  joint,  and  no  mistake. 
Here  we  are  at  my  hotel.  Come  up  to  my  room 
and  talk  business." 

They  talked  business,  and  Pierre  told  West- 
ley  many  things  about  the  Smoky  River  country. 
Later,  they  went  to  the  stores,  and  together  se- 
lected an  outfit  for  the  sportsman  and  such  pro- 
visions as  could  not  be  obtained  beyond  the  last 
town. 


flSm 


l^F^^ 


^^WVW! 


iW^IPIW*^ 


CnAFTBK  ni 

THE    JOUiNGY    TO    T^'O    MOOSE 

David  Westley  and  his  guide  made  a  four- 
hours'  journey  by  express  from  the  last  town, 
and  then  got  off  at  a  little  wayside  station. 
From  here  a  narrow-gauge  branch  line  took 
tliem  ten  miles  to  St.  Anne's.  Here  were  fifteen 
frame  dwellings,  a  church,  a  saloon,  a  store,  a 
blacksmith-shop,  and  a  sawmill. 

It  stood  at  the  mouth  of  Smoky  River,  on  the 
northern  bank  of  the  Sunpoke.  Hills  and  the 
flashing  waters  of  the  two  rivers  shut  it  in.  The 
flanks  of  many  of  the  hills  were  black  from  the 
gnawing  of  forest  fires.  The  flanks  of  others 
were  ragged  with  stumps,  rusty  red  tops  and 
branches,  climbing  companies  of  young  spruce 
and  white  birch. 

It  was  a  half-healed,  man-made  scar  upon  the 
breast  of  the  wilderness.  Westley  had  seen 
many  places  like  it  during  previous  hunting- 
trips  to  the  north ;  but  now  the  brush  and  stumps 
of  the  ragged  hills,  the  flashing  of  the  shallow 
rivers  and  the  thin,  blue  sky  over  all  held  a  new, 
vague  meaning  for  him.  He  saw  that  the  wilder- 
ness is  greater  than  the  game  it  breeds.    He  felt 

36 


26 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 


'i 


something  of  its  slow  but  persistent  resistance  to 
the  advance  of  man. 

The  two  spent  the  night  at  the  house  of  the 
mill-owner,  and  shortly  after  dawn  loaded 
Pierre's  big  birch  canoe,  built  heavy  and  strong 
against  the  wear,  tear,  and  mischances  of  swift 
waters,  and  started  up  Smoky  River. 

For  the  first  five  miles  the  paddles  served  their 
purpose  well  enough;  then,  coming  to  brisker 
water,  Pierre  stood  up  in  the  stem  of  the  canoe 
and  plied  his  long,  iron-shod  pole  of  spruce. 
Shortly  before  noon  they  were  forced  to  a  half- 
mile  portage. 

During  the  afternoon  they  crawled  up  three 
rapids  and  carried  around  another.  It  was  hard 
work— harder  than  deer-stalking  in  the  high- 
lands of  Scotland— and  Westley's  big  muscles 
soon  began  to  feel  It  keenly.  Pierre  MacKim 
seemed  tireless,  though  he  did  more  than  his 
share  of  the  heavy  poling. 

They  ran  the  canoe  to  shore  and  made  camp  at 
sunset,  sixteen  miles  above  St.  Anne's  and  the 
mouth  of  the  river.  The  day  had  been  bright 
and  fairly  warm ;  but  with  the  setting  of  the  sun 
a  chill,  suggestive  of  frost,  settled  down  upon 
wood  and  water. 

«We  ain't  gettin'  in  any  too  soon,"  remarked 

Pierre. 

They  pitched  their  lean-to  tent  among  the 
spruces  of  a  wooded  knoll  overlooking  the  river. 


^^^!33r^7I^?ST!«ftI^?!^ 


trUi'      ^di^ti-Ki^    } 


rrr 
1 "  I 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN        27 


the 


Westley  got  into  his  sleeping-bag  soon  after 
supper,  feeling  in  no  mood  for  conversation.  He 
was  sulky  and  depressed.  Though  his  muscles 
ached  and  his  eyelids  were  heavy,  he  did  not  fall 
asleep  until  close  \.^  .1  midnight. 

He  wondered,  dully  yet  bitterly,  just  what  va- 
riety of  a  fool  he  was  now  making  of  himself. 
He  saw  again,  as  in  a  living  picture,  his  last 
meeting  and  parting  with  Dorothy  Gordon.  Self- 
pity  gnawed  him  one  moment  and  anger  the  next. 
A  longing  to  return  to  her  immediately  pos- 
sessed him  while  he  dozed  for  half  a  minute; 
with  his  mind  off  its  guard,  he  decided  to  start 
back  for  civilization  next  day;  but,  wide  awake 
again,  he  called  himself  a  fool  for  the  weakness. 

He  would  stay  out  of  the  world  until  the  hurt 
the  woman  had  done  him  was  healed.  The  heal- 
ing would  require  a  month,  perhaps — perhaps  a 
year.  But  ho\;ever  long  it  took  it  should  be  ac- 
complished. He  swore  to  that.  She  had  played 
with  him.  She  had  played  an  underhand  game, 
and  when  discovered  she  had  tried  to  put  the 
blame  upon  him.  She  cared  nothing  for  him, 
nothing  for  his  love,  his  suffering,  nor  his  self- 
respect. 

So  Westley  lay  awake  while  his  heart  and  mind 
tortured  him.  And  all  the  while  he  pretended 
to  sleep,  for  fear  that  Pierre  would  disturb  the 
tortures  with  talk  of  rapids  and  moose  and  men. 
He  wanted  to  suffer! 


^ii^P^jr^5?!^^?^0^^? 


C'i>i'."-\ 


'<ii'- 


;»'  itf:'*J- 


1 

,1 


28        TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

Dawn  was  sifting  gray  through  the  spruces 
when  David  Westley  opened  his  eyes  from  a 
dreamless  sleep.  He  saw  Pierre  MacKim  squat- 
ting above  the  red  heart  of  the  fallen  fire,  coax- 
ing it  to  flame  again  with  twigs  and  bark  beneath 
the  blackened  kettle.  The  air  was  sharp  as 
splintered  ice.  White  frost  glittered  on  the  moss 
in  front  of  the  tent. 

Pierre  turned  his  head  and  nodded,  smiling. 

"Mighty  cold  momin',  mister,"  he  said. 
"Plenty  frost  las'  night,  you  bet.  I  break  a  scum 
of  ice  on  the  river  this  momin'  vhen  I  fill  the 
kittle.  We  gotter  hump  along,  Ci-  maybe  the  ice 
make  thick  afore  we  get  all  the  way  in  to  my 
country.  We  got  pretty  near  seventy  mile  to  go 
yet  'twixt  here  an'  Two  Moose  House." 

David  sat  up  in  his  sleeping-bag.  He  felt  bet- 
ter in  mind  and  body.  He  sniffed  the  keen  air, 
fragrant  with  the  scent  of  frost-nipped  earth, 
and  leaves  and  broken  water.  The  blood  leaped 
in  his  arteries-  -the  red  blood  of  the  hunter. 
Here  was  a  royal  hunting  ground.  Here  was  a 
balm  for  the  healing  of  wounds. 

"We  may  have  a  good  many  nights  of  frost 
before  this  river  freezes  over,"  he  said.  "A  scum 
of  ice  does  not  mean  much  this  time  of  year  up 
in  this  part  of  the  world." 

"That's  right,  mister,"  returned  Pierre.  "We 
have  Injun  summer  now — but  we  have  him  quite 
a  while  already.    Injun  summer  mighty  fine  an' 


^ssm 


^^^^HS^^^^^^^^^R 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN        29 

comfortable — but  it  end  mighty  sudden.  An' 
)ld  Smoky  look  so  almighty  strong  an'  swift  you 
jay  nothing  hold  him;  but  when  the  frost  once 
get  into  his  heart  he  freeze  quick  an'  solid,  with 
just  a  little  air-hole  at  every  rapid,  maybe.  Any- 
way, mister,  I  guess  we  know  what  to  do  if  we  do 
get  froze  on  the  river." 

They  climbed  the  swift  river  all  day,  in  some 
places  fighting  for  every  yard  of  advance  against 
the  snarling  current.  The  country  through 
which  they  passed  was  wild  and  uninhabited; 
but  here  and  there  the  forests  showed  where  the 
lumbermen  had  been. 

During  the  long,  bright  day  they  passed  only 
one  human  habitation,  a  lumber-camp  in  a  stump- 
jagged  clearing  on  the  right  bank.  The  axmen 
were  all  back  in  the  woods,  from  which  the  sharp 
tuck-tuck  of  their  strokes  on  the  living  spruce 
beat  out  to  them  on  the  clear  air.  The  cook  stood 
in  the  low  doorway  of  the  camp,  polishing  a  tin 
pan.  He  waved  his  dish-cloth  to  them  as  they 
crawled  past  the  clearing,  out  in  the  flashing 
water  of  mid-stream.  Westley  waved  his  hand 
in  reply.  Something  in  the  scene  appealed 
strongly  to  him. 

"Big  outfit?"  he  inquired. 

"You  bet,"  replied  Pierre.  "That  Andy 
Brown's  outfit.  Four  teams  of  bosses — yes,  an' 
one  mighty  good  cook.  But  this  old  Smoky 
pretty  cussed  bad  river  for  drivin'  out  the  logs. 


I 

I 

t 

I 


I  !•; 


80        TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 

It  need  a  lot  of  blastin',  an'  it  get  a  lot  of  cussin' 
every  spring.  Yes,  you  bet.  Andy  bin  loggin' 
hereabouts  five  year  now— an'  one  year  he  hang 
up  his  whole  winter's  cut  back  there  at  Double 
Knuckle  Bend." 

During  the  day  they  poled  up  four  bits  of  swift 
water  and  carried  around  three  stretches  of 
swifter.    They  saw  moose,  a  bear,  geese,  and 
ducks.    Westley    bagged    one  duck,    and   they 
broiled  it  for  supper. 
Westley  lay  awake  only  one  hour  that  night. 
In  launching  the  canoe  that  morning  they 
broke  a  skin  of  ice  from  the  shallow  and  moder- 
ately still  water  along  the  shore.    The  sun  came 
up  in  a  clear  sky;  but  the  air  was  really  mellow 
for  only  an  hour  or  so  about  noon.    A  sharp 
wisp  of  wind  fanned  out  of  the  northwest  all 

day. 

"I  guess  Injun  summer  'bout  ready  to  crawl 
into  his  winter  lodge  an'  lace  the  flap  across  the 
door,'  said  Pierre. 

At  the  time  of  sunset  of  the  third  day  they 
reached  the  cabin  of  one  Sacobie,  an  ancient 
Maliseet  of  unmixed  blood.  In  the  three  days 
they  had  made  fifty  miles.  They  were  still  sepa- 
rated from  Two  Moose  House,  the  Hudson  Bay 
Company's  post  of  the  Smoky  River  country,  by 
twenty-five  or  thirty  miles  of  broken  water.  The 
sun  sank  in  a  film  of  ashen  gray  cloud. 

Since  noon  the  voyagers  had  exchanged  no 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN        31 


if 


more  than  half  a  dozen  remarks.  David  West- 
ley's  spirit  was  down  again,  worried  by  uncer- 
tainty, regret,  and  longing. 

Old  Sacobie  met  them  at  the  edge  of  the  water, 
a  squat  figure  surmounted  by  a  large  head  in  a 
rusty  and  shapeless  feH,  hat.  The  door  of  the 
cabin  stood  open  behind  him,  letting  out  a  flicker 
and  jump  of  red  firelight  into  the  chilly  dusk. 

"How  do?"  said  Sacobie.  "You  come  back 
safe,  Pierre!" 

"How  do?"  returned  Pierre.  "Yes,  I  come 
back  safe,  you  bet.  This  here  is  David  Westley, 
one  mighty  fine  feller.  I  take  him  up  into  my 
country  an'  give  him  plenty  good  huntin',  you 
bet." 

"Dat  right,"  said  Sacobie,  nodding  to  Westley. 
"Come  in  now.  Grub  all  ready.  Plenty  good 
moose-meat  fryin'  on  de  pan." 

They  entered  the  cabin.  Sacobie  lit  a  smoky 
lamp  and  dished  the  supper,  which  consisted  of 
stale  biscuits,  fried  moose-steak,  and  boiled  tea 
served  without  milk.  All  ate  heartily,  however. 
Then  they  filled  their  pipes  from  David's  pouch. 

"You  get  pinched,  yes,"  said  Sacobie.  "Old 
Smoky,  he  freeze  to-night,  yes.  You  one  day 
too  late,  I  guess." 

"Surely  the  river  won't  freeze  across  in  one 
night,"  said  David. 

"Maybe,"  returned  Sacobie.  "He  freeze 
mighty  hard  on  de  edges,  anyhow.    Middle  all 


. r>'/i4 


^.J- Ji.4 


tf.%  i,-A':ni%i,r' 


rT  *  IL\ 


82 


TWO    SHALL   BE    BORN 


open,  maybe;  but  what  good  dat  do  you!  No 
man  ever  pole  canoe  up  de  middle  of  old 
Smoky,  'tween  dis  here  an'  Two  ]Moose." 

"Well,  I  guess  we  hoof  it,"  said  Pierre  easily. 
"We  can  do  it." 

"Den  you  hoof  it  quick,"  returned  Sacobie, 
settling  the  gaze  of  his  black  eyes  full  upon  the 
young  trapper.  "Yes,  you  get  home  mighty 
quick,  Pierre  MacKim.  Steve  Canadian,  him 
back  on  dis  country  now.  Yes,  dat  right.  I  see 
him.  Maybe  he  lookin'  out  for  Marie  Benoit. 
She  know  him  pretty  well  two,  free  year  back, 
down  to  St.  Anne's.  Stove  Canadian  mighty 
smart  feller— yes;  but  bad  Injun.  You  best 
get  home  quick,  Pierre.  You  t'ink  Marie  yer 
girl  now,  I  guess." 

Westley  looked  inquiringly  at  Pierre.  Here 
was  more  trouble,  evidently — and  again  with 
a  woman  at  the  bottom  of  it.  He  saw  Pierre 
start  in  his  seat  as  if  to  spring  foi-ward.  He 
saw  the  dark  eyes  narrow  and  flash,  the  thin 
young  face  grow  thinner  in  a  moment. 

Then,  leaning  forward,  with  his  eyes  full 
upon  those  of  the  old  man,  Pierre  said:  "You 
see  Steve  Canadian  on  this  river!" 

"Yes,  I  see  him  an'  say  how  do,"  replied 
Sacobie.  "Too  scarj  to  say  any  more— just  how 
do.  Him  mighty  bad  man— an'  Sacobie  old 
man  an'  live  all  alone.    He  say,  'Where  Marie 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN        88 


Benoit  these  days?'    I  tell  him  'How  I  know! 
Go  ax  Pierre  MacKim.'    Yes,  I  tell  him  dat." 

"An'  what  Steve  Canadian  say  when  you  tell 
him  that!"  asked  Pierre,  his  voice  low  and  dry, 
his  upper  lip  drawn  back  as  if  he  snarled. 

"Steve,  he  laugh,"  replied  Sacobie.  "He 
say  he  don't  care  one  little  bit  fer  no  Pierre 
MacKim.  Yes,  he  say  dat.  'Who  dis  yer 
Pierre  MacKim,  anyhow  V  he  say.  'One  Scotch- 
man?' he  ax." 

Pierre  sighed  and  turned  to  Westley.  "Steve 
know  who  I  am,  all  right,"  he  said.  "He  know 
I  ain't  no  pure-blood  Scotchman — or  he'd  be 
almighty  scart  of  me.  Yes,  he  know  my  father 
one  Scotch  half-breed,  my  mother  one  French 
half-breed.  He  don't  know,  maybe,  my  father's 
father  one  big  man  in  the  Hudson  Bay  Com- 
pany, back  in  the  old  times.  He  think  me  too 
much  mix'  blood  to  be  bra^e,  I  guess.  Well, 
he  find  out  his  one  big  mistake,  maybe." 

"Steve  Canadian  shoot  you  on  de  back, 
Pierre,  dat  what  he  do  wid  you  an'  yer  gran'- 
father,"  said  Sacobie.  "Yer  gran'father  one 
big  man  in  de  company,  oh,  yes — but  dat  big 
man  dead  long  time,  I  guess,  an'  you  jes  one 
common  trapper,  Pierre." 

"You  mustn't  do  anything  rash,  Pierre,"  said 
Westley. 

The  conversation  depressed  him.    He  had  not 


34 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 


il 


i    H 


expected  to  find  anything  of  this  kind  in  the 
northern  wilderness,  away  and  away  in  from 
the  nearest  railway. 

"If  the  girl  is  playing  a  double  game  she 
is  certainly  not  worth  fighting  about,"  he  added. 
"In  tliat  case  you  had  better  let  the  bad  Indian 
have  her." 

"You  don't  know  Marie,"  returned  Pierre 
gravely.  "She  play  no  game  with  anybody. 
She  a  white  girl,  mister — pretty  near.  She 
never  look  at  any  dirty  red  Injun  like  Steve 
Canadian." 

"Dat  right,"  said  Sacobie,  wrinkling  his  eye- 
brows. "Injun  mighty  dirty  feller,  you  bet, 
when  he  go  work  on  de  sawmills  an'  de  river, 
an'  mayi  way  off  on  de  big  town,  like  Steve 
CanadiaLi  ^^one.  Yes,  he  lam  plenty  dirty  tricks 
dat  time  from  de  white  man." 

The  morning  was  bitterly  cold  and  gray.  A 
cold,  blustering  wind  swooped  out  of  the  black 
mountains  to  th"  north  and  nor'west.  The  river 
was  frozen  to  a  distance  of  six  or  eight  yards 
from  both  shores.    The  ice  was  black  and  tough. 

"I  guess  we  make  one  big  try  at  it,  anyhow," 
said  Pierre.  "We  tow  tlie  canoe  along  the 
shore — break  the  ice  with  our  feet." 

They  rigged  a  tow-line  to  the  bow  of  the 
loaded  canoe.  Pierre  took  the  first  "spell"  at 
the  towing,  and  Westley  stood  in  the  stern  and 
forged  on  the  pole. 


■  Mjmrjtr^       m7 


WB9^SFm 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN        85 


»» 


It  was  slow  work,  and  desperately  hard  on  the 
mar  who  waded  knee-deep  in  the  cold  water, 
breaking  the  tough  ice  at  every  step  and  drag- 
ging on  the  heavy  canoe.  Tut  Pierre  said  that 
it  was  easier  and  quicker  than  packing  that 
weight  of  outfit  thirty  miles  along  a  rough  shore, 
through  tangled  brush  and  over  roots  and 
boulders.  After  the  first  half-hour  Westley  in- 
sisted on  taking  his  turn  at  the  tow-line  and 
ordered  Pierre  into  the  stem  of  the  canoe. 
Pierre  was  all  for  sticking  to  his  job ;  but  after 
the  third  time  of  telling  and  a  glance  at  the 
big  New  Yorker's  face  he  obeyed  smartly 
enough.  He  admitted  the  other's  mastership 
without  sulking. 

Westley  dragged  the  canoe  along  at  a  round 
pace,  trampling  the  new  ice  to  splinters  with  his 
well-shod  feet.  He  felt  strong  and  tireless,  for 
the  wilderness  had  already  put  the  finishing 
touch  to  his  splendid  muscles.  He  delighted  in 
the  hard  work — the  fight,  foot  and  hand,  against 
the  ice  and  swift  water. 

Here  was  something  to  fight  and  overcome,  to 
face  honestly,  and  master  with  strength  and  wit. 
Here  was  the  stuff  to  dull  memory  and  regret. 

At  noon  they  built  a  roaring  fire,  warmed  and 
dried  themselves,  and  ate  heartily.  The  sun 
struggled  out  of  the  dreary  clouds  for  half  an 
hour.  They  rested  and  smoked  their  pipes 
while  the  sun  warmed  them,  then  launched  out 


*','V  Vj^^^^S 


w^^mm 


86        TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 


^i 


!    ! 


i   i 


I 


again  into  the  frozen  river.  The  clouds  thinned 
to  nothing  before  sunset ;  the  wind  fell ;  the  cold 
became  more  intense. 

When  Westley  awoke  at  dawn  the  moss,  dead 
ferns,  and  gray  boulders  were  white  a  \  fuzzy 
with  frost.  The  black  ice  spread  out  from 
both  shores  of  the  river,  leaving  only  a  narrow, 
snarling  channel  in  midstream.  Pierre  had  the 
kettle  boiling  and  the  bacon  sizzling  in  the  pan. 

"I  guess  this  is  where  we  leave  the  canoe," 
he  said,  glancing  over  his  shoulder.  "We  get 
pinched  now,  an'  fifteen  mile  still  to  go.  Well, 
we  make  Two  Moose  afore  sundown,  anyhow." 

After  breakfast  the  canoe  was  unloaded  and 
lifted  up  from  the  shore  and  deposited  in  the 
heart  of  a  thicket  of  young  spruces.  It  was  cov- 
ered with  bark  and  spruce  branches. 

The  outfit  and  provisions  were  divided  into 
three  equal  parts.  Two  of  these  were  made  up 
into  packs  for  carrying,  and  the  third  was 
stowed  away  beneath  the  canoe.  Then  the 
sti  -uous  journey  afoot  was  begun.  Pierre  led 
the  way. 

At  first  they  tried  to  travel  on  the  new  ice 
close  inshore;  but  after  each  had  slipped  a 
couple  of  times,  falling  heavily,  dropping  the 
packs  and  breaking  through  to  the  icy  water, 
they  took  to  the  rougher,  but  safer,  way  among 
the  bushes. 

David  was  not  accustomed  to  carrying  a  pack, 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN        87 

and  he  suffered  much  after  the  first  half-mile. 
He  was  frequently  forced  to  call  a  halt,  to  ease 
the  knotted,  aching  muscles  of  neck  and  shoul- 
ders. He  admitted  his  weakness  in  this  depart- 
ment of  woodcraft  frankly  and  cheerfully. 
Throughout  the  desperate  journey  he  kept  his 
temper  unruffled.    His  spirits  were  high. 

It  was  only  when  he  was  idle  and  comfortable 
that  he  felt  the  bitterness  of  liis  position  and  the 
gnawings  of  doubt  and  regret.  But  Pierre,  who 
seemed  to  be  tireless  physically,  was  low  in  his 
mind  and  at  the  same  time  fretfully  anxious. 
He  spoke  little,  tiid  brooded  continv«ily  over 
what  Sacobie  had  told  him  of  the  i  i.n  of 
Steve  Canadian. 

In  time  they  came  to  a  rough  track  which  soon 
brought  them  to  a  big,  empty  clearing.  As  they 
crossed  this  clearing  they  heard  the  barking  of 
dogs  from  the  black  woods  beyond. 

"We  pretty  near  Two  Moose,"  said  Pierre. 
"We  soon  be  there." 

The  sun  was  low.  The  shadows  were  long 
in  the  empty  clearing.  A  human  figure  stepped 
from  the  shadows  in  front  of  them  and  halted 
in  their  path. 

"How  do,  Pierre,"  said  a  harsh  and  derisive 
voice.  "What  t'  deuce  you  come  back  home  for, 
anyhow?" 

Westley  knew,  without  a  doubt,  that  this  was 
Steve  Canadian,  the  "bad  Injun." 


r 

i 


CHAPTER  IV 


A  BIDE  IN   THE  PABK 


1   f 


In  the  failing  light  he  could  see  nothing  of 
the  fellow's  face — only  the  tall,  slouching  figure 
and  the  rifle  in  his  hand.  But  the  insolence  in 
the  attitude  of  the  figure  and  the  tones  of  the 
voice  brought  his  quick  blood  beating  up  into 
his  brain.  Westley  did  not  give  way  to  this 
anger  immediately,  however,  but  glanced  at 
Pierre  MacKim.  That  young  man  let  his  heavy 
pack  slide  from  his  shoulders  to  the  frozen 
ground. 

"I  come  back  home,  Steve,  'cause  I  very  well 
please  to,"  he  said  quietly,  but  with  a  hint  of 
breathlessness  in  his  voice.  "I  come,  I  go;  I 
'tend  my  own  business  how  I  please.  What  you 
got  to  say  to  that?" 

"I  say  you  best  git  out  of  dis  country,"  re- 
turned the  other. 

Westley  laid  his  hand  heavily  on  Pierre's 
shoulder. 

"You  keep  quiet,  Pierre,"  he  said  almost 
threateningly.  "Hear  me?  I  mean  it — and  I'm 
not  the  man  to  cross.  You  stand  right  there 
now  and  keep  your  mouth  shut" 

38 


"wr. 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 


39 


He  faced  Steve  Canadian. 

"I  know  about  you,"  he  said  at  a  venture. 
"If  you  don't  want  the  police  to  get  you,  you'd 
better  light  out  of  here  quick— and  keep  out." 
He  stepped  forward  and  stared  at  the  Indian. 
In  the  dim  light  he  looked  even  larger  than  he 
really  was. 

"Move  on,"  he  said,  "or  I'll  grab  you  by  your 
dirty  neck  and  take  you  up  to  the  factor.  He'll 
hold  you  until  the  police  arrive — if  I  ask  him 
to." 

Steve  Canadian  swore;  but  his  eyes  wavered 
and  fell  before  the  New  Yorker's  cold  and 
daunting  regard.  He  moved  away  and  was 
presently  lost  among  the  shadows. 

"Now  he  turn  an'  shoot  us  in  the  back,"  said 
Pierre  in  a  whisper. 

"No  fear,"  returned  Westley. 

"I  wonder  if  he  talk  any  to  Marie,"  said  the 
trapper. 

"No  decent  woman  would  let  a  dog  like  that 
talk  to  her,"  returned  Westley.  His  blood  was 
up.  For  some  unaccountable  reason  he  hated 
the  bad  Indian  like  an  old  enemy. 

Captain  Walter  Joice  had  half  a  dozen  social 
engagements  for  every  day  of  the  week,  for  he 
was  as  popular  in  New  York  as  he  was  at  home. 
He  cared  nothing  for  the  life,  however,  consider- 
ing it  a  shocking  waste  of  both  time  and  energy. 


fj 


*  r  >*c  ■■*•  'Si«-7Knw;.**.T  PTmrrtfr- 


40        TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

Only  the  fact  that  Dorothy  Gordon  was  in  the 
city,  and  in  the  same  social  swirl,  kept  him 

to  it 

He  knew  that  he  was  a  fool  to  stay ;  yet  he  re- 
mained, admitting  himself  to  be  a  fool.  He 
knew  that  the  girl  was  engaged  to  David  West- 
ley.  He  knew  that  David  Westley  was  not  the 
kind  of  man  women  break  with.  And  yet  he 
stuck  to  it  as  his  ancestors  had  stuck  to  many 
a  lost  cause,  suffering  teas  and  dinners  and 
dances  with  a  calm  exterior  and  a  nerve  that 
had  once  helped  to  win  a  battle.  Joice  had  not 
been  given  his  distinguished  service  order  for 
nothing. 

Joice  was  free  of  half  a  dozen  clubs;  but  he 
used  only  one  of  them,  and  that  the  smallest 
of  the  six.  He  sat  in  a  quiet  reading-room 
of  this  club  one  afternoon,  alone,  pensively 
amused  at  his  own  futile  behavior.  He  was 
playing  a  fool's  game,  he  reflected — a  game  in 
which  he  could  not  declare  trumps.  He  had 
been  lunched  that  day  by  some  people  whom 
he  had  met  in  London.  These  people  were  inti- 
mate with  the  Gordon's,  and  so  he  had  expected 
to  find  Dorothy  there.  She  had  not  been  there, 
however.  It  was  two  days  now  since  he  had 
seen  her. 

A  servant  entered  the  room,  glanced  around, 
then  turned  toward  the  door. 

"Yes,  sir,  Captain  Joice  is  here,"  he  said.  He 


!^^ 


^BPSfia 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN        41 


stood  aside  while  the  sturdy  figure  of  John 
Angus  Gordon  entered.  Then  he  left  the  room 
noiselessly,  drawing  the  door  half-shut  behind 
him. 

At  sight  of  Dorothy's  father,  the  captain  felt 
a  flutter  of  coratemation  go  through  his  veins. 
He  had  met  Gordon  three  or  four  times,  had 
exchanged  commonplaces  with  him,  but  knew 
him  no  more  than  he  knew  the  Sphinx. 

"Ah,  here  you  are.  Captain  Joice,"  said  Gor- 
don.   "I  thought  rd  find  you." 

His  strong,  ruddy  face  showed  some  haggard 
lines  which  Joice  had  never  noticed  there  be- 
fore. This  added  considerably  to  the  English- 
man's wonder  and  concern.  He  got  promptly 
to  his  feet,  smiling  agreeably. 

"Are  you  looking  for  me,  sir!"  he  queried. 

"Yes,"  returned  the  other.  He  hesitated  for 
a  moment,  glancing  around  the  quiet  room. 
"Yes,  captain,  you  are  the  man  I  am  looking 
for." 

"Ah — delighted,"  returned  Joice.  vaguely  un- 
e; '   .    "Won't  you  sit  down,  sir,  and  allow  me 
V.'     ag  for  something?" 

-ordon  sat  down  in  the  nearest  chair,  with- 
jub  glancing  at  it,  and  shook  his  head. 

"No,  thanks — not  now,"  he  said.  "I  want  to 
talk  to  you." 

He  shot  a  keen  glance  at  the  Englishman, 
then  turned  his  face  away. 


f 


f: 


42        TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

"I  want  to  speak  to  you  about  my  daughter," 
he  said. 

Joice  gasped.  His  lower  jaw  sagged  and  his 
face  flamed  crimson. 

"I— I  beg  your  pardon?"  he  stammered. 

Mr.  Gordon  looked  at  him  and  nodded  his 
head. 

"Yes,  about  my  daughter,"  he  said  calmly. 
"Why  not!  Why  shouldn't  I  speak  about  my 
daughter  if  I  want  to,  to  a  man  like  you— to 
her  friend?  That's  it— to  her  friend— and  to  a 
man  like  you." 

With  an  effort,  Joice  recovered  something  of 
his  usual  composure. 

•You  are  very  good  to  say  so,"  he  returned. 
"I'm  honored,  sir." 

"She  has  had  a  row  with  David  Westley," 
said  Gordon,  gazing  at  the  other  from  beneath 
shaggy,  overhanging  brows.  "She  says  it  was 
only  a  slight  misunderstanding;  but  I  know  bet- 
ter. They  quarreled  in  my  house.  She  won't 
admit  it — but  I  know  it.  She  has  the  pride  of 
the  devil,  that  girl.  I  don't  know  what  to  do 
about  it.  I  was  all  for  going  after  Westley  and 
giving  him  a  good  hiding  wLjn  I  first  saw  the 
bump  on  her  forehead — but  she  begged  me  not 
to." 

Captain  Joice  sat  and  stared  at  the  elder 
man.  At  mention  of  the  bump  on  Dorothy's 
forehead  his  face  went  white  as  the  marble  of 


^^mn^mm 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 


43 


« 


-^ 


the  clock  above  the  fireplace.  He  leaned  for- 
ward quickly,  his  blue  eyes  flashing. 

"A  bumpt"  he  exclaimed.  "A  bump  on  her 
forehead!  "What  do  you  mean  by  that!  Do  you 
mean  to  imply  that — that  Westley — struck — 
her?" 

"Steady,  Joice,"  exclaimed  Gordon,  daunted 
by  the  expression  on  the  Englishman's  face. 
"Not  so  fast,  if  you  please.  I  like  your  show 
of  spirit,  man,  but  there's  no  need  for  you  to 
attack  me.  I  thought  he  had  struck  her,  and 
was  mad  enough  to  kill  him — but  she  said  be 
didn't.  She  says  that  she  fell  and  hurt  herself 
— after  he  had  gone.  She  swears  to  it — but 
she  would  swear  to  anything  to  save  her  pride." 

Captain  Joice  looked  relieved. 

"She  wouldn't  lie,"  he  said.  "I  know  your 
daughter  better  than  that.  And  now  that  I 
think  of  it  calmly,  Westley  is  not  the  kind  of 
man  to  lift  his  hand  against  any  woman.  West- 
ley — is  a  friend  of  mine.  Yes,  I  have  known  him 
for  some  time — and  I  like  him." 

Gordon  studied  him  keenly  for  several  sec- 
onds before  replying. 

"No  doubt  you  are  right.  Captain  Joice,"  he 
said.  "Westley  would  not  strike  any  woman. 
Well,  let  it  go  at  that;  but  the  row  still  re- 
mains." 

The  color  flooded  back  to  Captain  Joice's 
face.     His  eyes  lighted.     His  heart  expanded. 


.1 


V^ 


■w 


sar 


li       ! 


[i   ; 


i  I  ^ 


44        TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 

and  hope  soared  in  him.  But  he  couI.i  nm  thinic 
of  anything  to  say,  of  anything  safe  or  sane 
tbp+  in  any  way  suited  the  occasion.  So  he 
£„.  in  the  deep  chair  and  stared  at  Mr.  Gor- 
don as  if  that  stalwart  gentlemaL  had  cast  a 
spell  over  him. 

"I'll  be  quite  frank  with  you,"  said  Gordon. 
"I've  been  frank  already,  perhaps.  I  am  a  man 
of  sudden  and  strong  likes  and  dislikes.  Ask 
anybody— anybody  who  knows  me.  And  I  don't 
often  make  mistakes.  I  sometimes  make  mis- 
takes in  my  dislikes,  but  never  in  my  likes.  I 
like  you,  Joice^and  I  like  everything  I've  ever 
heard  about  you  from  men  or  women.  Yes,  sir, 
I  like  you,  I  respect  you,  and  you  don't  hair 
me  up  the  way  some  young  fellows  do." 

And  still  Joice  could  not  think  of  a  suitable 
reply.  His  mind  was  in  a  silly  whirl,  and  his 
tongue  felt  stiff  as  a  stick.  Hope,  love,  astonish- 
ment, and  embarrassment  possessed  him,  each 
in  turn  and  all  together. 

"Yes,  Joice,  I  like  you— and  I  think  Dorothy 
likes  you,"  continued  Gordon. 

"Steady,  sir.  Steady,"  gasped  Joice.  "I— 
I  have  no  right  to  listen.  You  have  no  right 
to  say  such  things.  Consider,  sir,  how  she— 
your  daughter— would  feel  if  she  knew  you 
were  talking  in  this  way  to  me.  It— isn't  just 
the  thing." 

"Oh,  shucks !"  retorted  Gordon.    "What  do  I 


mm 


rm^^sn^BB 


nr 


TWO    SHALL   BE    BORN        45 

care  about  the  thing!  Suppose  what  I  say 
to  you  does  not  happen  to  be  the  right  thing — 
according  to  Hoyle  or  some  other  fool — so 
long  as  I  know  it  to  be  the  true  thing?  Now 
I  am  saying  what  I  believe  to  be  the  truth.  I 
want  to  see  my  girl  happy.  Am  I  right  in 
thinking  that  you  are  in  love  with  her?" 

The  Englishman  trembled  as  If  he  had  been 
struck  in  the  face. 

"You — ^you  are  right,"  he  whispered.  "Yes, 
I  love  her;  but  I  want  you  to  know,  Mr.  Gor- 
don, that  I  have  never  said  so.  I  have  never 
told  her.  I've  never  told  anybody.  Under- 
stand that,  sir.  I  have  played  the  game.  It 
has  been  hard,  sometimes;  but  I  have  played 
it" 

The  two  stared  at  each  other  for  a  time. 

"Oh,  the  game,"  said  Gordon.  "I  understand. 
It  is  the  game  of  the  Englishman — especially 
of  the  English  gentleman.  I  have  met  a  good 
many  of  them  who  didn't  play  it,  though.  But, 
of  course,  you  would  play  it." 

He  got  to  his  feet. 

"I  think  I  have  said  what  I  wanted  to,"  he 
continued.  "You  know  how  things  stand — and 
where  I  stand." 

Captain  Joice  also  stood  up.  The  two  shook 
hands  without  a  word.  Then  Mr.  Gordon  left 
the  room  and  the  club,  walking  swiftly  and 
belligerently. 


fl? 


^W 


46        TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 


li 


At  the  top  of  the  broad  steps  that  dropped 
down  to  the  avenue  he  paused  for  a  second  to 
snip  a  cigar  and  pop  it  into  his  mouth.  With- 
out waiting  to  light  the  weed,  he  ran  down  the 
steps  and  began  shouldering  his  way  up  the 
avenue. 

"Well,  that's  done,"  he  reflected.  "Perhaps, 
I've  made  a  mistake;  but  my  intentions  were 
good,  anyhow.  Now  I'll  get  back  to  business 
as  soon  as  I  walk  some  of  the  fog  out  of  my 
brain." 

Captain  Joice  continued  to  sit  in  the  quiet 
room  of  that  quiet  club  for  half  an  hour  motion- 
less in  the  deep  chair,  dazed  and  torn  by  con- 
flicting emotions.  Hope  was  dominant — hope 
and  a  mad  sort  of  joy.  Bewilderment  gripped 
him,  too,  and  a  vague  pricking  of  shame. 

He  had  an  engagement  for  dinner,  but  he  for- 
got it.  He  left  the  club  soon  after  dusk  and 
walked  the  streets  until  ten  o'clock.  At  last 
he  halted  before  the  ornate  front  of  David 
Westley's  house. 

"I'll  talk  to  Westley,"  he  muttered.  "He  is  a 
decent  chap.  By  Heaven,  I'll  play  the  game  ac- 
cording to  the  book,  if  it  kills  me." 

He  ascended  the  imposing  steps  and  rang  a 
bell  in  the  high,  unlighted  porch.  Hush  opened 
the  door,  and  the  light  from  one  lamp  in  the 
wide  hall  illumined  the  caller's  face.  Hush 
knew  him  by  sight. 


ki 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN        47 

"Mr.  Westley  is  not  at  home,  sir,"  he  said. 
"He  is  out  of  town,  sir,  I  regret  to  say." 

"Out  of  townt"  echoed  the  captain.  "I  am 
sorry  for  that  I  want  to  see  him— on  very  im- 
portant business." 

"Business,  sir?"  queried  Hush  respectfully. 

"Well,  on  an  important  matter,"  returned  the 
other.    "When  do  you  expect  him  back!" 

"He  went  away  night  before  last,"  replied 
the  valet,  "and  I  have  not  received  any  word 
from  him  yet,  sir.  Beg  pardon,  sir,  but  you 
are  Captain  Joice,  sir,  are  you  not?" 

"Yes,  I  am  Walter  Joice,"  admitted  the  cap- 
tain. 

"Thank  you,  sir.  I  asked  to  make  sure.  Mr. 
Westley  said  that  he  was  going  north,  into  the 
woods.  I  think  he  intended  +0  go  up  into  Can- 
ada, sir— perhaps  into  Quebec.  He  took  his 
gTins.  I  hope  to  hear  from  him  in  a  few  days, 
sir.  He  promised  to  send  me  his  address.  If 
the  matter  you  speak  of  is  very  important,  sir, 
I  will  give  you  the  address  as  soon  as  I  get  it." 

Captain  Joice  did  not  answer  immediately. 
Fate  seemed  to  be  playing  into  his  hands.  He 
felt  dazed. 

"Very  well,"  he  said  slowly.  "You  will  hear 
from  him  in  a  few  days,  you  think?  Very 
well.  If  you  will  drop  a  line  to  me  at  my  club, 
the  Saxon,  when  you  hear,  I'll  be  greatly 
obliged." 


1 1 


48        TWO    SHALL   BE    BORN 

He  slipped  a  coin  into  Hu8h*8  hand. 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Hush. 

Captain  Joice  spent  a  sleepless  night.  He 
knew  that  Westley  had  acted  foolishly,  in  a  fit 
of  temper;  but  was  it  fair  to  take  advantage  of 
that  foolishness!  Westley  had  gone  north  into 
the  woods,  so  unexpectedly  that  even  his  man 
had  been  taken  by  surprise,  and  was  now  won- 
dering if  anything  was  wrong. 

During  the  morning  Joice  could  not  settle 
down  to  anything.  He  lunched  alone,  then 
dressed  with  unusual  care.  He  had  made  up 
his  mind  to  call  on  Dorothy  Gordon. 

It  was  a  few  minutes  after  five  when  he  left 
the  taxicab  and  rang  the  bell  at  Mr.  John  Angus 
Gordon's  front  door.  The  man  who  opened  to 
him  informed  him  that  Miss  Gordon  was  not  at 
home  this  afternoon,  and  was  even  now  dress- 
ing to  ride  in  the  park.  He  knew  the  captain. 
Joice  produced  one  of  his  cards  and  scribbled 
on  it:  "May  I  ride  with  you?  If  so,  I  can  meet 
you  at  the  west  entrance  in  half  an  hour." 

The  butler  took  the  card  and  returned  with 
the  word  that  Miss  Gordon  would  be  delighted 
to  ride  with  Captain  Joice.  Then  Joice  tore 
away  for  his  temporary  home,  bribing  the 
driver  of  the  taxi  to  risk  everything  for  the 
sake  of  speed.  He  changed  into  boots  and 
breeches  in  seven  minutes  and  a  half,  having 
first  telephoned  to  the  stable  for  his  horse. 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN        49 

Joice  scanned  Dorothy's  face  anxiously  as  he 
rode  up  to  her.  He  saw  that  her  cheeks  were 
paler  than  usual,  and  that  faint  shadows  lurked 
under  her  eyes.  After  the  first  greetings  they 
canHred  side  by  side  in  silence  for  ten  minutes. 
Then  Dorothy  pulled  her  mare  to  a  trot,  and 
immediately  afterward  to  a  walk.  Joice  pulled 
his  big  bay  shoulder  to  shoulder  with  the  mare. 

"Dorothy,"  he  said,  "I — I  want  to  know  some- 
thing. 

She  glanced  at  him,  and  swiftly  away  again. 
Her  small  face  flushed  pink,  and  a  shadow  of 
dismay  filled  her  eyes. 

"Something  has  happened,"  he  said,  "and  I 
am  going  to  speak — at  last.  I  do  not  know  that 
I  have  a  right  to  speak,  but  I  must." 

She  turned  her  face  fairly  to  him.  Her  eyes 
were  dimmed  with  tears. 

"Please  don't,"  she  whispered.  "Walter, 
please  don't  speak — and  please  forgive  me.  I 
have  done  wrong.  I — have  depended  so  on 
your  friendship." 

The  light  went  out  of  the  Englishman's  face, 
and  the  hope  out  of  his  heart.  But  he  smiled 
courageously. 

"You — love  him — still!"  he  asked. 

She  bowed  her  herl  then  stripped  off  a 
gauntlet  and  put  out  a  hand  to  him. 

"I  love  him  as  greatly  as  I  honor  you,"  she 
whispered. 


!     « 


if 


50 


TWO    SIL'XL   BE   BORN 


Joicc  crowded  tho  big  bay  close  against  her 
mount,  raised  ner  hand  to  bis  lips,  tben  let  it 
fall. 

"Where  is  he?"  he  asked. 

"I  do  not  know,"  she  replied. 

He  stared  unbi.;  'ongl/  at  his  horse's  ears. 

"If  you  want  inc.  lo  fid  out  where  he  is,  I'll 
do  it,"  he  said. 


ii 


m 


CHAPTER  V 


<t 


'the  pbettiest  aiRL  in  the  provi>  cb" 


ed  of  the 

ns  '    >me 

atf  a 


It  woH  dark  wher  Davi  1  Wpstle-  and  Pierre 
MacKiiii  entered  th  ig  cIphtid^,  i  the  middle 
of  which  8tood  Two  Afoos(  '^ous^  f>nd  its  de- 
I)en<  ent  buildii  a:8.  The  i  Oi 
factor's  house,     le  stori .  a  n 

frame,  some  bui  t  of  1'*^;. 
canoe-shed 

Yello  lampliir-jt  blur  d  tl  darkness  from 
several  of  th«  m  to«  vmdows.  Dogs  barked 
is  tJie  two  voyagf  rs  need  toward  the  clus- 

tered habitations    in    ihe    center  of  the  rough 
clearing. 

A  man  s  sin  -'  in  one  of  the  cabins;  a 
mouth-,  rgan  w.-  ^  p    ved  somewhere,  and 

a  fiddle  torture  lewht  e  else. 

Pierre  if'd  the  ^ay  to  e  cabin  standing  sev- 
eral hundred  yard^  from  the  center  of  the  post, 

a  little  aced  garden  of  its  own.  A  light 
-aone  m  a     indow  beside  the  door. 

"This  iuy  c?  bin,'  said  Pierre.  "My  mother, 
she  ive  her^  id  >Tie  little  girl  that  belong  to 
my  lister.    Sh*       uead  now,  my  sister,  an'  her 

&i 


"SST 


52 


I'; 


I 


S 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 


man,  John  Harris,  he  never  come  out  of  the 
woods  last  spring.  His  canoe  strike  an'  break 
up  'way  up  Dominick's  Brook.  Yes,  we  find  him 
in  June,  poor  feller." 

The  door  of  the  cabin  opened  and  a  woman 
and  a  big  dog  ran  out.  The  woman  threw  her 
arms  around  Pierre's  neck,  and  the  dog  sprang 
up  against  him,  clawing  at  his  clothing  and 
yelping  witii  delight  The  woman  was  Rosie 
MacKim,  Pierre's  mother. 

She  was  a  French  half-breed,  and  Indian 
blood  ages  quickly  in  the  veins  of  the  women 
of  the  wilderness.  She  was  no  more  than  forty 
years  of  age,  but  when  David  Westley  saw  her 
face  in  the  lamplight  he  thought  her  an  old 
woman  of  between  sixty  and  seventy  years. 

All  entered  the  main  apartment  of  the  cabin, 
which  was  kitchen  and  living-room  in  one. 
Pierre  presented  David  to  his  mother. 

"This  is  David  Westley,  who  hire  me  to 
bring  him  into  the  Smoky  River  country,"  he 
said.  "He  is  a  mighty  rich  sport,  I  guess ;  but 
he  is  one  good  feller,  too.  He  know  all  about 
the  woods,  an'  the  river,  too — yes,  as  good  as 
any  trapper.  He  sleep  right  here  to-night, 
mother,  an'  to-morrow  we  fix  up  one  empty 
shack  for  him." 

"Yes,  that  very  good,"  replied  the  woman, 
eying  the  big  New  Yorker  with  wonder  and  awe 
in  her  gaze.    "You  tired,  I  think,  monsieur.    I 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 


53 


make  gran'  bed  on  de  floor  for  you  an'  Pierre, 
monsieur.  Now  I  cook  one  gran*  supper,  for 
you  mighty  hungry,  I  think.  Pierre,  what  for 
you  go  out  the  door  again  now!" 

"I  go  for  one  minute,  two  minute,"  replied 
the  trapper. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  go  see  Marie  Benoit,  I  guess," 
returned  the  woman.  "Steve  Canadian,  he  is 
in  dis  country  now,  an'  he  make  life  one  misery 
for  dat  girl.  Maybe  he  lay  'round  now,  dis 
minute,  with  his  gun,  ready  for  to  shoot  you, 
Pierre.  You  come  back  quick.  You  not  even 
take  one  look  yet  at  the  little  one,  layin'  so 
beautiful  an'  easy  in  her  little  crib." 

Pierre  went  out,  losing  the  door  behind  him. 
By  this  time  Westley  had  deposited  his  pack  in 
a  comer  and  taken  a  seat  by  the  stove.  He 
was  dog-tired.  He  produced  a  cigarette  ease 
from  an  inner  pocket  and  lit  a  fat  cigarette.  He 
sighed,  stretched  out  his  long  legs,  and  closed 
his  eyes.  He  opened  them  presently  to  find 
Rosie  MacKim  gazing  at  him  diffidently,  ex- 
pectantly. He  sat  up  in  the  chair  and  smiled 
reassuringly. 

"I  am  tired,"  he  said.  "Pierre  and  I  have 
had  a  hard  day." 

"Oh,  yes,  monsieur,**  replied  the  woman :  "you 
are  tired,  but  you  soon  eat  an'  sleep.  You  like 
my  boy,  monsieur?  You  think  him  one  good, 
smart  feller,  maybe!" 


!    I. 


t  i 


hilt 


.  1 1 


54        TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

"Yes,  he  is  a  fine  fellow,"  replied  Westley. 
"I  like  him." 

"I  mighty  feared  for  him,"  said  the  woman. 
"Dis  Steve  Canadian  one  bad  Injun.  I  feared 
he  do  some  hurt  to  my  boy,  all  for  Marie  Benoit. 
I  fear  every  minute— €vory  day — every  night, 
monsieur" 

"Don't  worry  about  Steve  Canadian,"  said 
Westley.  "We  met  him  a  little  while  ago.  He 
is  a  coward,  I  think,  and  Pierre  is  able  to  take 
care  of  himself.  If  he  isn't— well,  there  is  a 
law  in  this  country." 

"Oh,  yes,  monsieur;  but  de  law  never  come 
into  dis  country  till  after  some  one  get  shot,  an' 
dat  don't  bring  nobody  back  to  life." 

"If  Steve  gets  gay— acting  bad,  you  know— 
I'll  get  the  factor  to  send  him  out  of  the  coun- 
try. I  think  I  could  get  the  factor  to  oblige 
me,"  said  Westley. 

"Oh,  the  factor,  monsieur?  Yes,  Donal'  Grant 
one  mighty  obligin'  man;  but  lazy,  lazy,  mon- 
sieur. He  sit,  he  smile,  he  smoke  his  cigar,  an' 
oblige  everybody.  He  have  very  kind  heart, 
monsievr  the  factor.  He  kind  to  everybody. 
Yes,  even  to  Steve  Canadian.  He  don't  like 
trouble.  Monsieur  the  factor  he  smoke  on  his 
new  cigar  an'  say,  *Peace !  Peace !' " 

Westley  laughed.  Rosie  MacKim  laughed  too, 
shrugged  her  shoulders,  even  as  her  French 
father  had  shrugged  his,  and  snapped  the  youth- 


■'-iC^^:p»T: 


TWO    SHALL    BE   BORN        55 

ful,  black  eyes  in  her  colorless,  wrinkled  face. 
Then  she  turned  to  the  task  of  getting  supper. 
Westley  settled  himself  in  the  chair  again  and 
dozed.  Twenty  minutes  later  Pierre  came 
home,  whistling  like  a  bird.  His  thin  face  was 
glowing  and  his  dark  eyes  dancing. 

"I  guess  you  see  Marie,"  said  his  mother, 
glancing  up  from  the  pan  in  which  she  was  fry- 
ing moose-meat  and  bacon. 

"Yes,  I  see  her,  an'  talk  with  her,"  replied 
Pierre.  "Now  I  go  in  an'  see  the  little  one 
asleep  so  beautiful  in  her  crib." 

The  two  men  ate  heartily,  then  smoked  their 
pipes,  and  rolled  up  in  many  thick  blankets  on 
the  kitchen  floor. 

When  they  awoke  they  found  that  snow  had 
fallen  during  the  night.  The  sky  was  clear 
now,  and  the  air  was  bitterly  cold.  After  an 
early  breakfast  they  left  the  cabin  together. 

"You  want  to  hunt  moose  to-day,  maybe?" 
queried  Pierre. 

"No,  I'll  rest  to-day,"  replied  Westley.  "I'll 
make  a  call  on  the  factor,  and  then  lis  up  the 
shack  you  spoke  about.  The  moose  will  keep; 
but  what  about  the  rest  of  our  outfit?  We'll 
be  needing  that,  Pierre." 

"Yes,  I  send  two  boys  out  for  that  last  night," 
said  Pierre.  "I  think  maybe  some  thief  find 
it— some  '  :  '  like  Steve  Canadian.  You  leave 
some  migiP/  good  stuff  there  under  the  canoe, 


^ 


fi  i 


;    I 


< 

J 


56        TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

mister — plenty  of  cartridge  for  rifle,  plenty  of 
condensed  milk,  'baccy,  an'  tent,  an'  one  good 
gun.  Stevfc  Canadian  one  big  thief.  He  would 
take  that  mighty  quick,  so  I  send  two  boys  out 
last  night,  before  I  go  to  see  Marie." 

"Good  for  you,"  said  Westley.  "You  have 
a  head  on  your  shoulders,  sure  enough.  Now, 
you  go  see  about  that  cabin  for  me,  and  I  will 
call  on  Mr.  Donald  Grant." 

David  found  Mr.  Grant  in  the  company's 
store,  talking  to  Mr.  Duff,  the  storekeeper. 
Grant  was  a  tall,  thin  man,  with  a  straggling 
beard  on  cheeks  and  cliin,  a  drooping  mustache, 
and  mild,  blue  eyes.  His  hair  was  iron-gray. 
He  wore  a  shabby  suit  of  gray  tweed,  a  wolf- 
skin overcoat,  hanging  open,  a  tweed  cap,  and 
tan  boots.    He  was  smoking  a  cigar. 

Duff  was  short  and  fat,  his  face  clean-shaven, 
and  his  eye"^  dark  as  an  Indian's.  But  his  blood 
was  pure  white.  He  was  in  his  shirt-sleeves, 
and  his  homespun  trousers  w  .re  tucked  untidily 
into  the  tops  of  a  pair  of  high  boots  that  had 
known  better  days.  A  clay  pipe  adorned  the 
corner  of  his  wide  mouth.  Both  men  advanced 
to  the  door  to  welcome  the  New  Yorker.  They 
shook  his  hand  heartily. 

"My  name  is  Westley,  David  Westley,"  said 
the  sportsman.  "I  came  in  last  night  with 
Pierre  MacKim,  and  expect  to  stay  quite  a  while 


■^imp 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN        57 

— all  winter,  perhaps.     I   am   looking   for   a 
change." 

"Glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Westley,"  said  the  fac- 
tor. "If  I  were  a  swearing  man  I'd  put  it 
stronger  than  that.  This  is  a  lonely  place.  If 
you  come  from  New  York,  or  London,  you'll 
get  change  enough,  I  fancy." 

"That's  right,'^  said  Mr.  Duff,  shifting  his 
pipe  from  one  corner  of  his  mouth  across  his 
face  to  the  other.  "That's  right.  Change 
enough." 

"Have  you  breakfasted  Mr.  "Westley  I"  asked 
the  factor. 

David  said  that  he  had  breakfasted  very  well 
at  Mrs.  MacKim's. 

"Then  come  over  to  the  house  and  have  a 
talk,"  invited  the  factor. 

The  factor's  house  was  roomy,  empty,  and 
none  too  clean.  The  living  room  was  lighted 
by  two  small  windows  which  needed  washing. 
A  fire  hummed  and  crackled  in  a  square  sheet- 
iron  stove.  Three  fat  dogs  of  no  particular 
breed  lay  on  a  caribou-skin  near  the  stove.  A 
heavy  deal  table  occupied  the  middle  of  tlie 
room.  It  was  cluttered  with  books,  manu- 
scripts, several  dozen  cartridges  and  empty 
cigar-boxes. 

The  rest  of  the  room's  furniture  consisted  of 
three  broken   easy   chairs,  a  gun-case   with    a 


u 

i 

i 

,;        It     I 

t- 

ii 


V    i 


>f 


Hi 


1  ft 

f 


58        TWO    SHALL   BE    BORN 

glass  door,  four  unsteady  looking  book-cases,  a 
stuffed  loon,  a  stuffed  fox,  and  a  few  photo- 
graphs. 

David  stared  around  him,  for  this  was  not 
what  he  had  expected  to  find  at  Two  Moose 
House. 

"Sit  down,  Mr.  Westley,"  said  Grant.  "You'll 
find  the  chair  with  the  red  cushion  finn  in  all 
four  legs.    Help  yourself  to  a  cigar." 

Westley  sat  with  the  factor  for  an  hour,  smok- 
ing and  doing  his  best  to  make  conversation. 

The  factor  was  not  an  easy  man  to  talk  to. 
He  seemed  good-natured  and  glad  to  have  his 
visitor  with  him,  but  for  the  greater  part  of  the 
hour  he  sat  slouched  in  his  chair,  with  his  long, 
slender  hands  clasped  in  his  lap,  and  a  far- 
away look  in  his  mild  blue  eyes.  He  asked 
a  few  questions  about  the  big  cities  of  the  world 
—about  London,  Paris,  and  New  York.  These 
questions  showed  a  knowledge  of  the  first  two 
cities.  He  seemed  to  feel  no  curiosity  about 
Westley  himself. 

"You'll  find  plenty  of  game  in  this  country," 
he  said.  "Yes,  plenty  of  sport  of  that  kind. 
I'm  not  much  of  a  sportsman  myself." 

When  Westley  got  up  to  leave,  the  factor 
seemed  to  make  an  effort  to  brisk  up  a  bit.  He 
said  that  he  hoped  Westley  would  drop  in  to 
see  him  that  evening.  Better  still,  he  hoped 
he  would  dine  with  him.    Westley  went  away, 


:"!Sa 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 


59 


and  as  he  passed  the  window  he  glanced  in  and 
saw  that  the  factor  was  already  stooping  above 
the  papers  on  the  table. 

The  young  men  who  had  gone  after  the  re- 
mainder of  the  outfit  came  in  at  noon.  Westley 
was  in  his  own  cabin  by  that  time,  helping 
Pierre  rig  up  a  stove  and  stovepipe. 

The  cabin  was  low,  and  strongly  built  It 
contained  two  rooms.  Westley  saw  that  it 
could  easily  be  made  into  comfortable  wirt^r 
quarters.  As  he  and  Pierre  walked  over  to 
Pierre's  home  for  the  midday  meal  they  met 
Marie  Benoit.  She  bowed  to  the  stranger,  glanc- 
ing at  him  shyly.  Her  forehead  was  white  be- 
neath the  edge  of  the  fur-lined  hood  which  she 
wore.  A  flush  of  pink  tinted  her  round  cheeks 
beneath  the  delicate  tan.  Her  eyes  were  dark 
and  bright,  her  lips  very  red  and  finely  shaped. 
She  was  of  pure  French  blood.  Westley  was 
astonished  and  impressed  by  her  beauty. 

Marie  and  Pierre  talked  together,  in  low 
tones,  for  a  minute.  The  girl  laughed  once,  and 
there  was  music  in  it.  Presently  she  turned 
and  entered  her  father's  cabin,  and  the  two  men 
passed  on  their  way. 

"There,"  said  Pierre,  his  face  aglow,  "is 
she  not  wonderful,  Marie  I" 

"She  is  a   very   pretty   girl,"  said  Westley. 
"Yes,  she  is  wonderful." 
"Down  in  St  Anne's  you  see  no  girl  like  her," 


\li 


!■    i 
t-    1 


i    ! 


60 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 


i 


said  the  trapper.  "Yes,  in  the  big  city,  in  New 
York,  maybe,  you  see  no  girl  so  beautiful  as 
Marie.  Is  that  not  so,  mister  t  You  know.  You 
see  plenty  of  girls." 

"There  is  a  girl  in  New  York  who  is  as 
beautiful  as  Marie  Benoit,  but  she  is  not  a  dark 
beauty,"  replied  Westley,  smiling  grimly. 

Pierre  looked  at  him  sharply. 

"That  must  be  your  own  girl,  mister,  if  yon 
think  her  as  beautiful  as  Marie,"  he  said. 

Westley  laughed  and  shook  his  head. 

"I  have  no  girl,"  he  said. 

"That  too  bad,"  returned  Pierre.  And  then: 
"Marie  think  she  marry  me  some  day,  maybe. 
That  pretty  fine  thing  for  poor  trapper  like  me, 
to  marry  a  girl  like  Marie,  the  prettiest  girl  in 
this  province." 

"Yes,  that  would  be  a  fine  thing,"  agreed  the 
other  absently.  He  was  thinking  of  Dorothy 
Gordon  as  he  had  last  seen  her.  His  heart 
shook  suddenly  and  seemed  to  falter.  He  halted 
in  the  narrow  path,  staggered,  recovered  himself 
with  a  laugh.    Pierre  caught  hold  of  him. 

"You  weak,"  he  cried.  "You  work  too  hard 
on  the  trip  up  river." 

"No,  I  am  all  right.  I  twisted  my  ankle," 
replied  Westley. 

The  two  spent  the  afternoon  at  work  on  the 
interior  of  Westley's  cabin.  Marie  came  in  for 
half  an  hour  and  aelped  them  hang  moose-hides 
on  the  walls. 


vs^i^i^'iM  I'^^ss^i^  :.i;i 


7\ii^&im'~r^ 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN        61 


The  little  settlement  was  almost  empty,  save 
for  the  women  and  children,  for  most  of  the 
men  had  gone  to  their  trapping-grounds  several 
weeks  before. 

The  children  scouted  about  the  open  door  of 
the  stranger's  cabin,  gazing  in  with  round  eyes 
whenever  his  back  was  turned.  Pierre  bought 
lamps  and  oil  at  the  store,  and  by  sunset  the 
little  house  was  ready  for  occupation.  Then 
Westley  remembered  that  he  had  accepted  the 
factor's  invitation  to  dinner.  Pierre  went  home 
with  Marie,  but  soon  returned  to  the  newly 
furnished  cabin.  He  sat  by  the  new  stove, 
and  smoked,  and  talked  while  Westley  changed 
into  a  decent  suit  of  dark-gray  tweeds. 

"Steve  Canadian  keep  away  from  the  post 
all  day,"  said  Pierre.  "You  scare  him  pretty 
good  last  night,  you  bet.  I  tell  Marie  how  you 
talk  to  him,  an'  she  laugh  an'  say  you  must  be 
very  brave  man — as  brave  as  you  are  big.  She 
mighty  glad  you  scare  that  feller." 

"If  he  troubled  her  while  you  were  away  why 
didn't  her  father  send  him  about  his  business? 
She  has  a  father,  hasn't  she  ?"  asked  Westley. 

"Oh,  yes,  slie  got  a  father,  by  name  Dominic 
Benoit,"  replied  the  other,  smiling.  "Dominic 
once  was  a  mighty  smart  feller,  an'  great  man 
in  the  company — great  feller  to  get  fur — but 
now  he  don't  give  one  little  dam  for  nothin' 
but  his  rum,  an'  his  'baccy,  an'  his  fiddle.  He 
got  'nough  money  put  away  safe,  but  he  don't 


J     -<\ 


62 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 


\i\ 


If. 


i  H 


know  Injun  from  white  man,  nor   bad   Injun 
from  good." 

Westley  went  to  dinner  at  the  factor's  house. 
Mr.  Duff,  the  storekeeper,  was  also  there.  The 
table  was  set  at  one  end  of  a  long,  bare  room, 
close  to  a  wide  hearth  whereon  logs  of  maple 
and  birch  blazed  furiously.    The  night  was  cold. 

The  dinner  passed  off  uneventfully,  but 
there  were  many  things  about  it,  and  about  the 
quiet  evening  which  followed,  that  impressed 
Westley  deeply  and  awakened  his  curiosity. 

To  begin  with,  the  dinner  itself  was  astonish- 
ingly good,  and  well  cooked.  The  half-breed 
lad  who  waited  on  the  table  wore  a  shabby 
livery  half  a  size  too  large  for  him.  But  he 
did  his  work  neatly  and  swiftly.  While  a  few 
of  the  dishes  on  the  table  were  of  the  commonest 
kind,  and  some  even  cracked  and  chipped, 
most  of  the  ware  was  fine  and  old,  and  all 
the  spoons  and  forks  were  of  silver,  engraved 
with  the  crest  of  the  company. 

The  dinner  was  as  dignified  as  it  was  savory, 
despite  the  incongruous  cite  struck  by  the 
half-dozen  cracked,  earthenware  platters. 

The  company  seemed  to  Westley  more 
curious  thp.n  the  table.  Mr.  Grant,  seated  in  a 
huge  armchair  at  the  head  of  the  table,  ate  no 
more  than  would  have  satisfied  a  healthy  spar- 
row, and  drank  enough  to  float  a  canoe.  His 
manner  was  perfect,  though  a  trifle  too  quiet 


I  |f 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN        68 

and  detached.  He  had  dressed  for  the  meal  in 
a  shabby  and  wrinkled  suit  of  evening  clothes. 
He  had  not  combed  his  beard,  however,  nor 
brushed  his  hair.  On  the  wide,  silk  facing  of 
his  coat  was  a  row  of  little  black  loops,  three 
in  number.  Westley's  keen  eyes  soon  detected 
these  loops.  Mr.  Duflf  wore  Sunday  black,  a 
high  collar,  of  a  shape  fashionable  fifteen  years 
before,  and  a  sky-blue  necktie. 

Mr.  Duff  drank  little  and  ate  much.  He  told 
several  stories,  in  a  humorous  vein,  of  his  last 
visit  to  Montreal.  He  had  spent  a  month  in 
that  city,  and  a  great  deal  of  money,  as  recently 
as  eight  years  ago. 

"Nothin'  like  a  trip  out  every  now  and  then, 
and  a  fling  in  the  life  of  a  big  city,  to  brisk 
a  man  up  and  keep  him  in  touch  with  the 
world,"  said  Mr.  Duff  complacently. 

When  the  coffee  came  on,  and  cigarettes  and 
cigars  were  lighted,  Westley  leaned  sidewise 
toward  the  factor. 
"You  have  been  in  the  army,"  he  said. 
The  factor  started  slightly  in  his  big  chair, 
and  his  blue  eyes  darkened  a  little  in  the  candle- 
light. The  storekeeper  kicked  Westley  furtively 
but  sharply  on  the  shin,  winked,  and  shook  his 
head. 

"Why,  so  I  was,"  said  the  factor ;  "but  how 
did  you  know?" 
Westley  did  not  reply.  He  stared  at  the  store- 


B' 


m 


u 


\il 


64 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 


i  i  s 


keeper  puzzlingly.  WTiat  had  that  fat  idiot 
kicked  him  for,  he  wondered. 

"How  do  you  know  I  was  ever  in  the  service!" 
asked  Grant  sharply. 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  returned  Westley. 
"How  did  I  knowt  Why,  by  the  loops  for  the 
miniature  medals  on  the  front  of  your  coat.** 

"Sure  enough,"  said  the  factor.  "By  the 
loops,  of  course." 

A  look  of  relief  flashed  and  faded  swiftly 
from  his  face.  He  sagged  back  in  his  seat 
again  and  returned  his  cigar  to  his  mouth. 
David  glanced  inquiringly  at  Duff,  and  again 
the  storekeeper  shook  his  head. 

The  remainder  of  the  evening  passed  pleas- 
antly, though  somewhat  dully,  with  no  further 
mention  by  any  one  of  the  fact  that  Mr.  Grant 
had  been  in  the  army.  It  was  after  midnight 
when  Westley  went  borne  to  his  newly  furnished 
cabin.  Snow  was  falling  thickly  from  a  pitch- 
black  sky. 

Wlien  Westley  awoke  he  found  the  fire  burn- 
ing in  tho  new  stove  and  Pierre  MacKim  stand- 
ing beside  his  bed. 

"Yon  got  some  letters  to  go  out,  maybe!" 
queried  Pierre.  "You  write  them  to-day, 
mister,  an'  I  take  them  out  early  to-morrow 
mornin'.  We  have  plenty  snow  now;  an*  I  run 
the  mail  between  here  an'  St.  Anne*s  one  time 
in  eveiy  two  weeks.     Grant,  he  give  me  the 


'm^  .  a:  -r  ■  ".-.^  ^-  :■  '^:.-^  smi , ;  ^  n. 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN        65 

job  this  momin*.  1  have  it  last  winter,  too, 
an'  never  miss  one  trip.  I  wear  this  big  badge 
now— G.  K.,  His  Majesty's  Mails,  Dominion  of 
Canada.  I  get  good  money,  too ;  an'  plenty  time 
to  trap  a  little;  an'  if  any  dirty  Injun  trouble 
me  when  I  run  with  the  mail  the  whole  English 
army,  an'  the  whole  Canada  militia,  too,  have 
to  turn  out  an'  protect    ■  •\" 

"You  are  no  end  of  a  swell,"  said  Westley, 
smiling.  And  then,  "I  won't  have  any  letter  to 
send  out  this  time,  Pierre,  thanks  all  the  same. 
I  wrote  to  New  York  from  St.  Anne's." 

"Maybe  I  bring  in  one  letter  to  you,  then," 
replied  Pierre.  "One  letter  from  that  girl  you 
say  more  beautiful  nor  Marie  Benoit." 

"Don't  talk  like  that,"  returned  Westley,  not 
unkindly.  "There  is  no  girl  and  no  chance  of 
a  letter." 

Westley  spent  the  day  in  vandf^ring  about 
the  post,  oiling  his  guns  and  talK;-  p  tv  ih"i  store- 
keeper. Mr.  Duff  was  willing  :  tyik  m  any 
and  every  subject  save  the  faCt  i.  Vvhenever 
Westley  mentioned  the  factor  Duff  gave  a  turn 
to  the  conversation. 

He  talked  of  the  country,  praising  it  highly. 
He  explained  how  great  things  could  be  done 
with  the  wilderness  around  the  post — greater 
things  than  the  taking  of  furs.  He  spoke,  at 
length,  of  lumliering  and  agriculture. 
"If  I  had  money — a  heap  of  it — I'd  buy  up 


66 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 


I  i  ■' 


I  h 


\n 


about  twenty  square  miles  of  this  country  and 
make   my   everlasting   fortune,"   he   said. 

"Why  isn't  it  done?"  asked  Westley,  mildly 
interested. 

"The  company  isn't  in  that  business,  as  yet," 
replied  Duff.  "It  is  old-fashioned,  you  know. 
The  river  is  a  bad  one  for  driving  out  lumber — 
has  half  a  dozen  rapids  and  falls  between  here 
and  St  Anne's  that  need  a  lot  of  blasting. 

"The  big  lumbermen  don't  seem  to  know 
about  the  timber  up  this  way.  But  mind  you, 
Mr.  Westley,  timber  isn't  the  only  thing  to 
work  with  up  here.  We  have  a  cold,  long  win- 
ter up  here — but  we  also  have  a  hot,  five-month 
summer.  I  have  raised  grain  and  potatoes  in 
my  garden  that  can't  be  beat.  This  is  a  fine  coun- 
try, under  the  timber  and  the  moss." 

"Who  ic  the  owner?"  asked  Westley. 

Duff  stared.  "The  company  owns  a  bit  of 
it  around  the  post  here,"  he  said.  "Just  a  block 
or  two — a  thousand  acres  or  so,  all  told.  The 
bulk  of  the  countrj-^  is  crown  land,  of  course — 
government  land.  The  stumpage  on  some  of  it 
may  be  leased  by  lumbennen,  for  all  I  know; 
but  the  land  is  crown  land.    Why  do  you  askt" 

"Well,  I  have  a  little  money  to  invest,"  re- 
plied Westley,  "and  the  woods  appeal  to  me." 

"How  much?"  grabbing  the  New  Yorker's 
shoulder. 

"How  much  would  I  require  to  collar  and  de- 


ki  mL 


TWO   SHALL   BE    BORN        67 

velop  about  ten  thousand  acres  of  this  coun- 
try!'* queried  Westley  in  return. 

At  that  moment  the  door  of  the  store  was 
pushed  open,  and  Steve  Canadian  entered,  his 
shoulders  and  fur  cap  flecked  with  snow.  He 
carried  snowshoes  in  one  hand  and  a  rifle  in 
the  other  He  looked  at  Westley  and  grinned 
insolently.  Westley  returned  the  look  steadily. 
The  Indian's  eyes  wavered. 

"I'll  come  over  and  talk  to  you  to-night,  Mr. 
Westley,"  said  Duff. 

Steve  Canadian  bought  some  cartridges  and 
tobacco. 

David  Westley  went  home  to  his  little  shack, 
lit  a  pipe,  and  sat  by  the  stove.  He  was  lonely 
and  heart-sick. 

"If  I  had  only  known  a  year  ago  that  she  did 
not  love  me,"  he  said.  "It  would  have  been 
easier  then.  I  must  jump  into  some  sort  of 
work  or  excitement  quick,  or  I'll  be  sneaking 
back  to  her  and  crawling  before  her  like  a  dog. 

I  must  get  over  it — tear  it  out!" 

Duff  came  in  the  evening  and  talked  largely 
of  lands  and  lumber  and  agriculture.     He  was 

II  man  of  big  ideas — big  dreams.  His  talk  in- 
terested Westley.  The  bigness  of  it  caught  his 
fancy.  He  could  understand  that  this  wilder- 
ness was  not  to  be  tamed  without  toil,  excite- 
ment, and  endless  trouble.  He  was  looking  for 
these  things.    He  told  Duff  that  he  would  think 


ill 


G8 


TWO    SHALL   BE    BORN 


over  the  idea  of   developing   a    block  of  this 
northern  forest. 

Early  in  the  morning  Pierre  MacKim  set  out 
for  St.  Anne's  with  snowshoes  on  his  feet,  a 
rifle  in  Lis  hand,  and  mail  and  food  in  a  pack 
on  his  back.  David  accompanied  him  for  about 
five  miles  of  the  way.  Coming  to  a  fresh  moose- 
trac ;:,  David  followed  it  away  from  the  river. 

After  an  hour's  trailing  he  came  in  sight  of 
the  animal ;  but  as  it  proved  to  be  only  a  young 
bull,  with  inferior  antlers,  he  did  not  shoot 
He  "cruised"  a  few  miles  of  the  country,  ex- 
amining the  timber  and  the  slopes  of  hills  and 
valleys,  and  got  back  to  the  post  shortly  before 
noon.  He  found  the  place  in  a  hubbub.  Rosie 
MacKim  8  little  granddaughter  was  missing! 
Every  one  was  in  the  open,  asking  questions  or 
making  suggestions.  Even  Donald  Grant,  the 
factor,  was  out  on  the  steps  of  his  big  house, 
cigar  in  hand. 

"She  has  wander  away!"  cried  the  distracted 
Hosie.  "My  God,  the  wild  beasts  of  the  forest 
— they  will  eat  her!  I  don't  know  when  she  go 
— but  maybe  when  I  was  busy  cooking." 

"I  tliink  it  will  be  easy  enough  to  track  her," 
said  Westley. 

He  immediately  made  up  a  search-party  of 
all  who  were  able  and  willing  to  go  into  the 
woods.     The  party  consisted  of  Mr.  Duff  and 


f^ 


Li 


if 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 


69 


liis  two  Indian  assistants  at  the  store,  of  a  serv- 
ant from  the  factor's  house,  the  factor  him- 
self, Marie  Bpnoit,  and  Westley. 

Westley  was  uncomfortably  hungry,  for  he 
had  breakfasted  at  six;  but  he  said  nothing 
about  that.  There  were  already  many  trails  in 
the  snow  of  the  big  clearing,  running  here  and 
there  and  everywhere.  Many  of  these  entered 
the  forest,  and  some  led  down  to  the  river  and 
across  it  to  the  black  woods  beyond.  The 
searchers  separated  and  entered  the  forest 
singly,  examining  the  snow  at  every  step  for 
the  foot-marks  of  the  little  girl. 

David  went  down  to  the  river  and  across  it. 
He  pushed  forward  straight  for  about  half  a 
mile  from  the  farther  shore,  then  swung  to  the 
left    There  were  no  tracks  here  save  those  of 
hare,   partridge,  and  larger  game.     He   came 
around  again,  slanting  back  to  his  own  trail. 
The  "going"  was  hard  in  places,  through  tan- 
gles of  brush  and  drifts  of  feathery  snow.    He 
crossed  his  trail  and  kept  on  to  the  right.    At 
last  he  came  upon  a  deep,  well-beaten  track, 
along  which  a  herd  of  caribou  had  moved  re- 
cently.    He  slipped  his  rifle  from  its  woollen 
case;  then  shook  his  head  and  returned  it  to 
its  cover.    He  was  not  after  caribou,  but  after 
a  little  girl.  He  stepped  into  the  track  and  fol- 
lowed it.    The  big,  splay  hoofs  had  trampled  it 


f.  Il- 


It 


70        TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

deep  and  hard.  He  calculated  that  as  many  as 
fifty  animals  must  have  i)assed  along  it  in 
Indian  file. 

"If  the  others  'e  ground  as  I  have 

done,  she'll  be  fo^.  .  refiected. 

Suddenly  he  stooi)ed  with  a  low  cry  and 
picked  up  a  scrap  of  silver  foil  from  the  tram- 
pled snow.  He  had  oi)ened  a  tin  of  cigarettes 
at  Kosie  MacKim's  cabin,  and  had  given  the 
silver  wrapper  to  the  little  girl.  She  had  asked 
for  it.    It  had  looked  like  a  treasure  to  her. 

"And  it  has  i)roved  a  thing  of  price  to  her," 
said  David. 

He  shouted,  then  stood  motionless  and  gave 
ear;  and  from  far  ahead  came  a  faint  and 
broken  cry  in  answer. 

"The  poor  little  kid!"  he  muttered.  "She 
must  be  frightened  almost  to  death." 

He  dropped  his  rifle  in  the  snow  and  began 
to  run  along  the  narrow  trail.  As  he  ran  he 
shouted  words  of  cheer ;  and  presently,  bursting 
through  a  screen  of  drooping  branches,  he  came 
in  sight  of  the  baby.  She  stood  in  the  trail,  fac- 
ing him,  with  tears  rolling  down  her  fat  cheeks 
and  others  frozen  on  her  lashes.  She  started 
to  run  to  him,  but  fell  and  lay  still. 

Wcstley  had  a  flask  in  his  pocket.  He  lifted 
the  little  girl  in  his  arms  and  coaxed  a  drop  or 
two  of  the  whisky  between  lier  trembling  lips. 
She  shivered  with  fright,  relief,  and  cold.    Sobs 


ik 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN        71 

shook  her  little  body.  Westley  felt  a  great  pity 
and  tenderness  in  his  heart.  He  tried  to  com- 
fort her,  and  presently  he  succeeded  in  this. 

"Now  I'll  carry  you  home   to  your  grand- 
nother,"  he  said.    "You'll  ride  all  the  way  home. 
Won't  that  be  fun?    But  you  are  cold.    I  must 
roll  you  up  ir  my  jumper." 

The  sobbing  ceased.  Westley  took  off  his 
short  blanket-coat  and  folded  it  around  the  litnie 
girl.  He  took  a  nip  of  whisky  then  to  comfort 
his  empty  stomach,  and  lifted  her  in  his  arms 
again.  She  lay  there  quietly  as  he  strode  along. 
She  was  heavy  for  her  age  and  size,  and  his 
arms  soon  began  to  ache.  But  he  kept  right 
on. 

"Why  did  you  ran  away  and  lose  yourself  m 
the  woods!*'  he  asked. 

"I  want  to  see  the  fairies,"  she  said.  "Mon- 
sieur Grant,  he  tell  me  one  day  'bout  little 
fairies  in  the  big  wood.  I  think  I  go  an'  see — 
an'  I  run  'cross  the  river — and  then  I  don't 
know.  All  woods,  woods  everywhere — an'  I 
don't  see  the  fairy.  Then  I  get  scare — an'  I 
cry  a  little." 

"Will  you  promise  me  not  to  go  looking  for 
the  fairies  again  until  you  are  a  big  girl?"  he 
asked  gravely  and  tenderly. 

"Yes,  I  promise  you,  monsieur,"  she  whis- 
pered. "But  monsieur  the  factor,  be  tell  me 
how  only  little  children  see  the  fairies.  But  I 
promise  you,  monsieur — 'cause  I  love  you." 


72 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 


*  •1 


"Good!"  eaid  David  Westley,  and  he  kissed 
Rosie  MacKim's  four-year-old  granddaughter. 

He  had  to  put  her  down  several  times  before 
he  reached  the  river  to  fling  his  arms  about  and 
rub  the  kinks  out  of  them.  And  he  felt  weak 
and  empty  beneath  the  belt. 

On  reaching  the  bank  of  the  river  opposite 
the  post  he  fired  his  rifle  three  times  to  let  the 
other  seachers  know  that  he  had  been  successful. 
Twenty  minutes  later  he  staggered  into  the  big 
clearing  and  placed  the  child  in  the  arms  of  her 
grandmother.  Old  Rosie  MacKim  was  loud  in 
her  gratitude  and  praise.  Westley  submitted 
to  a  close  embrace,  then  escaped  to  his  lonely 
shack  and  cooked  himself  a  lonely  dinner.  He 
was  dog-tired,  but  the  thing  had  done  him  good. 
His  spirit  felt  quieter  and  his  nerves  less  raw 
than  they  had  for  weeks.  The  child's  words 
of  trust  and  love  sang  in  his  ears,  and  the 
grandmother's  sincere  and  broken  blessings. 

Duff  paid  Westley  a  visit  and  remained  to 
supper.  He  congratulated  the  New  Yorker  on 
his  deed  of  the  morning. 

"That  sort  of  thing  is  what  gets  right  down 
to  the  hearts  of  these  people,"  he  said.  "If  poor 
old  Grant  had  found  the  baby  and  carried  her 
home— though  I  doubt  if  he  could  have  lugged 
her  all  the  way — his  trade  in  peltries  would 
have  gone  up  fifty  per  cent.  Yes,  sir,  as  quick 
as  that— fifty  per  cent.    Every  trapper  in  the 


If 


Marie  Benoit  appeared  on  the  threshold. 

(Pi'.Ke?.}. 


>'**afe 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN        73 

country  would  have  brought  his  whole  take  into 
this  post.     But  Grant  wasn't  the  lucky  man, 
and  you  were.    Well,  sir,  you're  made,  as  far 
as  this  country  and  tliese  people  are  concerned." 
Duff  left  early,  for  he  was  posting  his  books 
over  at  the  store.    Westley  tried  to  read,  and 
soon  dozed  in  his  chair.    It  was  about  ten  o'clock 
when  a  sound  at  the  door  awakened  him.    The 
door  was  flung  open,  and  Marie  Benoit  appeared 
on  the  threshold.     A  puff  of  icy  wind  leaped 
past    her    and    extinguished    the    lamp.      She 
screamed.     Westley  jumped  to  his  feet  and 
stumbled  toward  her. 
"What  is  the  matter?"  he  cried. 
She  clutched  his  arm.     She  was  trembling 
with  fear  or  excitement.    She  shrank  close  to 
him,  pressing  a  quaking  shoulder  against  his 
arm. 

"It  is  Steve  Canadian,"  she  whispered,  hold- 
ing him  tight  with  both  small,  ungloved  hands. 
"He  is  in  the  house  with  my  poor  father — who 
is  drunk.  Oh,  monsieur,  he  defies  my  father — 
ho  will  not  go  from  the  house — and — and  he 
kissed  me,  monsieurl  He  now  makes  ready  to 
fight  with  my  poor  father." 

The  blood  pulsed  up  hotly  through  Westley's 
veins. 

"Come,"  he  said,  "I'll  rid  your  house  of  him." 
He  felt  no  partioilar  anger  against  the  In- 
dian now,  but  a  thirst  for  excitement.    The  fact 


:m 


74        TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

is,  ho  had  been  awakened  from  a  vague  but 
wonderful  dream  of  Dorothy  Gordon.  AH  this 
had  been  a  mistake — in  the  dream;  and  now  to 
find  it  true!  He  had  been  with  Dorothy  a  mo- 
ment ago — and  now  the  little  hands  of  Marie 
Benoit  grasped  his  arm !  It  struck  him  as  a  huge 
and  bitter  joke. 

He  laughed  recklessly  and  laid  his  hands  upon 
hers  to  free  them  from  his  sleeve.  8 he  was 
sobbing  now,  softly  and  pitifully.  Her  fingers 
turned  in  his,  warm  and  soft  and  wonderfully 
alive. 

"You  are  Pierre's  girl,  Marie — and  I  have  no 
girl,"  he  said.  "That  is  hard  luck,  don't  you 
think  so!" 

The  blood  sang  in  his  brain  like  a  madness. 
He  slipped  his  ann  around  Marie's  waist  and 
kissed  her  full  on  the  upturned  lips.  She  did 
not  struggle  or  cry  out  A  sudden,  hot  shame 
flooded  through  him.  He  freed  her  almost  vio- 
lently and  ran  from  his  own  cabin  toward  that 
of  Dominic  Benoit 


CHAPTER  VI 


TWENTY  THOUSAND  ACBE8 


David  Westley  kicked  open  the  door  of  Dom- 
inic's cabin  without  ceremony.  For  a  moment 
he  stood  blinking  on  the  threshold,  his  inner 
vision  clouded  by  the  reckless,  daredevil  mad- 
ness that  was  awake  in  him,  his  eyes  bewildered 
by  the  light  of  two  candles  and  a  lamp. 

Then  he  saw  the  Frenchman  and  Steve  Ca- 
nadian staring  at  him.  He  took  in  the  scene 
and  its  meaning  at  a  glance.  A  chair  lay  over- 
tamed  on  the  floor.  Dominic  Benoit  stood  lean- 
ing against  the  edge  of  the  table,  clinging  to  the 
edge  of  it,  his  long,  white  hair  straggled  over 
his  face. 

The  Indian  sat  on  a  comer  of  the  table,  a 
broken  fiddle  in  his  left  hand  and  a  knife  bared 
in  his  right  His  teeth  were  bared  also,  and 
his  eyes  were  glowing. 

"Ha,"  exclaimed  Steve.  "Marie  get  one  big 
champion." 

"Drop  that  knife  and  go  away  from  here," 
said  Westl<^y,  advancing. 

The  Indian  sneered  and  lowered  his  feet  to 

T5 


MICROCOPY   RESOLUTION   TEST   CHART 

{ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No    2) 


1.0 


I.I 


1^ 

450 
wm 


m 
m 

114  0 


12.5 
2.2 

2.0 
1.8 

1.6 


M  APPLIED  INA^GE     Inc 

^r  16b!    Ejs'    Wa'-:    Sueel 

— ^  Rochester.    New    ^ork         14F''9       USA 

.^S  ;7i6)    482  -   0300   -  Pnone 

^S  (716)    288  -  5989  -  ra» 


76 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 


1   r 


the  floor.  He  was  none  too  steady  on  them. 
He  threw  the  fiddle  aside  and  brandished  the 
knife. 

"You  ain't  boss  in  dis  post,  my  boy,"  he  said. 
"No,  I  guess  not.  Grant,  he  factor  of  Two 
Moose.  You  go  'way  an'  mind  yer  own  busi- 
ness—an' nurse  Pierre  MacKim.  He  yer  baby, 
I  guess." 

The  mention  of  Pierre  turned  Westley's  be- 
wilderment into  a  flaming  rage  against  the  In- 
dian and  a  scorching  disgust  of  nimself.  How 
had  he  treated  Pierre  t  Bah— and  he  consid- 
ered himself  a  civilized  man— and  a  gentleman. 

And  yet,  what  had  he  done!  A  kiss— one 
kiss,  more  or  less,  would  hurt  neither  Marie  nor 
Pierre.  He  had  been  treated  badly,  disgrace- 
fully, by  a  woman  of  his  own  kind. 

After  all,  what  harm  had  he  done— so  long 
as  Marie  did  not  mind?  It  had  been  done  im- 
pulsively, in  a  moment  of  excitement  and  pity. 
It  had  meant  nothing  to  the  girl,  and  would 
mean  nothing  to  Pierre. 

These  things  went  through  his  mind  while  he 
stood  motionless,  with  the  open  door  behind 
him,  staring  blankly  at  Steve  Canadian. 

"I  guess  you  better  go  home,"  sneered  Steve. 
"You  t'ink  so,  too.  You  not  like  the  look  of 
dis  knife,  maybe.  You  ain't  such  one  devil 
of  a  feller  as  you  try  to  make  out,  I  guess. 
Big  voice — nothing  else." 


4 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN        77 

Westley  sighed,  then  jumped  forward  with 
amazing  swiftness  and  landed  his  left  fist  on 
the  side  of  Steve  Canadian's  jaw. 

The  Indian  grunted  and  dropped. 

Dominic  swore  in  the  tongue  of  his  fathers 
and  subsided  across  the  table,  overturning  one 
of  the  candles. 

A  figure  darted  forward  from  the  door,  brush- 
ing against  Westley.    It  was  Marie. 

She  picked  up  the  candle  and  set  it  upright 
in  its  stick.  She  turned  to  Westley,  her  eyes 
very  bright  and  wide,  her  cheeks  flaming. 

"Oh,  monsieur,  you  are  so  brave,"  she  whis- 
pered. "The  knife  give  you  no  fear.  You  save 
my  poor  father  from  death,  yes." 

Westley  looke<^  away  from  her  to  the  man  on 
the  floor. 

"I'll  attend  to  this  fellow,"  he  said  gruflly, 
"and  you  had  better  look  after  your  father.  He 
will  kill  himself  if  he  doesn't  let  up  on  the 
drink  a  bit — or  else  he'll  get  killed  by  some 
fellow  like  this." 

He  stooped,  lifted  Steve  Canadian,  and  car- 
ried him  from  the  cabin.  He  laid  him  on  the 
floor  of  his  own  cabin,  shut  and  fastened  the 
door,  and  lit  the  lamp  on  the  tabic.  He  ex- 
amined the  Indian  and  found  that  he  was 
breathing  heavily  and  regularly. 

"I  knew  I  didn't  hit  him  hard,"  he  said. 
"The  brandy  did  the  job." 


78        TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

He  put  more  wood  into  the  stove  and  sat 
down  with  his  elbows  on  the  table  and  his  head 
between  his  hands.  Steve  Canadian  opened  his 
eyes  after  a  while  and  hoisted  himself  on  his 
elbow.  He  saw  the  New  Yorker  at  the  table 
bowed  forward  in  an  attitude  of  dejection  or 
sleep. 

The  Indian  mistook  it  for  sleep.  He  felt 
in  his  belt  for  his  knife,  recollecting,  mistily, 
the  incidents  of  the  evening;  but  the  knife  was 
not  there. 

His  wandering  red  eyes  detected  a  rifle  in  a 
corner  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room.  His 
head  swam  from  the  brandy  and  the  knock  on 
the  jaw;  but  his  heart  was  firm. 

He  got  slowly  to  his  knees,  then  unsteadily 
but  noiselessly  to  his  moccasined  feet,  and 
started  cautiously  toward  the  rifle.  He  had  not 
gone  more  than  two  yards  when  Westley  raised 
his  head  from  his  hands. 

Steve  Canadian  came  to  a  full  stop. 

"So  you  are  feeling  better,"  said  Westley. 
"Well,  I  hope  you  have  learned  a  lesson  to- 
night.   Next  time  I'll  hit  you  harder." 

Steve  scowled  sullenly  at  the  caribou  hide 
under  his  feet. 

"Now  get  out,"  continued  Westley;  "but  if 
you  go  back  to  Benoit*s  cabin  I'll  knock  your 
dirty  head  off.  Do  you  understand  what  I 
say?" 


ill 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN        79 


"Sure,  I  hear,"  replied  Steve.  "Who  you 
t'ink  you  are,  anyhow?" 

"It  doesn't  concern  you.  Get  out — quick," 
returned  the  other. 

Steve  took  his  departure  snarling,  and  banged 
the  door  after  him. 

David  went  to  the  factor's  house  immediately 
after  breakfast.  The  snow  was  deep  on  the 
ground  and  the  roofs  of  the  cabins,  and  the 
air  was  clear  and  nipping  cold. 

Westley  found  Mr.  Grant  in  his  living-room, 
wearing  a  shabby  dressing-gown  and  seated  at 
the  cluttered  table.  The  room  smelled  of  stale 
cigar-smoke.  The  dogs  still  lay  on  the  rug  in 
front  of  the  stove. 

Grant  pushed  back  his  chair,  got  to  his  feet, 
and  held  out  his  hand. 

"Good  morning,»»  he  said.    "Sit  down." 

"You  were  busy,"  said  Westley.  "I  am  sorry 
to  disturb  you ;  but  I'll  not  bother  you  long.  I 
just  called  to  say  that  a  man  here  named  Steve 
Canadian  requires  watching.  He  kicked  up  a 
row  last  night  in  Benoit's  cabin — refused  to 
leave  the  house,  and  pulled  his  knife  on  the  old 
man.    They  had  both  taken  too  much  liquor." 

The  factor  sighed  and  frowned. 

"That  Indian  is  inclined  to  be  lawless  and 
lazy,  I  am  afraid,"  he  replied;  "but  he  has 
never  done  any  real  harm  yet,  around  here. 
Of  course,  if  he  did  serious  damage  I'd  soon 


II 


ii.l 


80 


TWO    SHALL   BE    BORN 


send  him  packing.  He  has  been  here  only  a 
few  weeks.  He  doesn't  belong  to  this  part  of 
the  country,  I'm  glad  to  say." 

"The  girl— Dominic's  daughter— came  to  me 
for  help,"  said  David.  "I  found  Steve  with  a 
knife  in  his  hand  and  the  1  renchman  quite  help- 
lessly drunk.  I  was  forced  to  knock  the  In- 
dian down  and  drag  him  out." 
Mr.  Grant  raised  his  eyebrows, 
"ideally  ?"  he  said.  He  smiled  quietly.  «A 
girl  like  Marie— a  pretty  qfirl— causes  more 
trouble  in  the  woods  than  a  dozen  fellows  like 
the  Indian  you  speak  of." 

"You  may  be  right,"  returned  Westley  crisply. 
"You  know  more  bout  it  than  I  do,  of  course. 
If  the  Indian,  Steve  Canadian,  is  not  a  menace 
to  the  peace  of  your  post  I  suppose  I  need  not 
worry  my  head  about  him.  Mr.  Duff  does  not 
fancy  him  any  more  than  I  do." 

"Duff  is  an  old  woman,"  said  the  factor. 
"He's  afraid  the  Indian  will  pinch  a  spool 
of  thread  or  a  tin  of  sardines  from  the 
store." 

"Good  morning.  Sorry  to  have  bothered 
you,'-  said  Westley. 

"Don't  go,  please.  I'm  not  doing  anything 
very  important,"  said  the  factor. 

Westley  felt  a  trifle  huffy,  however,  and 
would  not  stay  another  minute. 

Westley  went  to  the  store  and  found  Mr.  Duff 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN        81 

dozing  beside  the  stove,  with  his  pipe  in  the 
corner  of  his  mouth. 

"Steve  Canadian  was  in  here  this  morning," 
said  Duff,  hitching  his  chair  across  to  his  vis- 
itor and  reseating  himself  on  a  bag  of  flour. 

"He  is  a  bad  egg — and  dangerous,  too.  He 
has  it  in  for  you,  Mr.  Westley — and  hasn't 
sense  enough  to  keep  it  to  himself.  He  says 
he'll  cut  out  your  liver  before  you  leave  this 
country.  I  warned  him  against  talk  cf  that 
kind.  The  factor  may  stand  for  it,  but  I 
won't." 

Westley  laughed.  "That  fellow  is  about  as 
dangerous  as  a  cat,"  he  said.  "Twenty  like  him 
couldn't  scare  me  a  minute.  As  to  cutting  out 
my  useful  liver  before  I  leave  this  country — 
well.  Duff,  I  have  an  idea  that  he  will  leave  the 
country  before  I  do." 

Mr.  Duff  brightened  at  that  and  removed  his 
pipe  from  his  mouth. 

"Now  what  do  you  mean  by  that?"  he  asked. 

"I've  decided  to  take  up  a  bunch  of  this 
wilderness,"  replied  the  New  Yorker.  "I  need 
work;  and  I  think  it  would  be  interesting  to 
make  something  worth  while — a  green  spot  on 
the  map — out  of  raw  material." 

Duff  sprang  to  his  feet  and  grasped  his  hand. 

"That's  the  way  to  talk,"  he  exclaimed.  And 
then,  more  quietly,  "You  can  raise  the  wind,  can 
you — a  pretty  stiff  breeze!" 


!! 


h 


82       TWO   SH     .L   BE   BORN 

Westley  nodded.  "What  shall  I  have  to  pay 
for  the  land,  just  as  it  stands!"  he  ask'^^d. 
"About  how  much  per  acre!" 

"It  will  average  about  four  dollars  an  acre, 
taking  it  front  and  back,  timber  and  barren, 
valley  and  hill,"  replied  Duff,  his  eyes  glisten- 
ing.   "How  much  can  you  buy!" 

Westley  lit  a  cigarette  and  .  >gan  figuring  on 
the  back  of  an  envelope.  T  left  the  bag  of 
flour  and  hung  over  his  shuulder. 

"I  want  enough  to  keep  me  busy  and  inter- 
ested," said  Westley.  "How  would  twenty  thou- 
sand acres  do?  I  don't  want  to  play  at  the 
thing." 

"Man,  that  would  be  eighty  thousand  dollars," 
exclaimed  Duff.  "You  must  be  made  of  money, 
Mr.  Westley.  Twenty  thousand  acres!  Bless 
my  soul!" 

"But  would  you  have  anything  left  for  the 
work  of  developing?  That  will  cost  a  good  deal 
more  than  the  land,  sir,  though  you'd  soon  be 
getting  returns  from  your  lumber.  How  much 
have  you?" 

"I  am  willing  to  spend  five  hundred  thousand 
on  this— for  a  starter,"  returned  Westley.  "The 
river  will  have  to  be  cleared  next  summer;  and 
we  must  have  a  mill  of  our  own,  up  here;  and 
if  we  can  get  a  crew  of  men  together  we  had 
better  start  cutting  lumber  this  winter." 


i 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN        88 

Duflf  was  silent  for  half  a  minute,  staring. 

"Man,  what  ever  brought  you  into  the  Smoky 
River  country — you,  with  your  five  hundred 
thousands  of  dollars!"  he  asked. 

"Man,  you  could  own  a  place  in  Scotland! 
Are  you  joking  with  me,  sirt" 

"Not  on  your  life,"  replied  Westley,  smiling 
faintly.  "This  country  suits  my  book;  and  it 
suits  my  book  to  have  a  job — an  exciting  job. 
I  want  to  make  something  out  of  new  land — out 
of  raw  material." 

The  storekeeper  eyed  him  keenly. 

"Something  has  gone  wrong  with  you  in  New 
York,"  he  said. 

Westley  frowned  and  did  not  reply. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  Du£f.  "I  am 
not  thinking  of  asking  any  questions  of  a 
private  nature.  You'll  be  needing  a  lot  of  help, 
Mr.  "Westley,  if  you  want  to  make  a  success  of 
''  '='.    Will  you  take  me  on,  sir,  as  a  secretary 

^  assistant  manager — or  something  of  the 
dad? 

"I  know  the  country — and  I'm  about  sick  of 
dozing  here  in  this  store  and  waiting  for  promo- 
tion. I  don't  want  big  wages,  but  I  do  want 
big  work.  Say  the  word,  sir,  and  I'll  hand  in 
my  resignation  to  Grant  this  very  day." 

"That  suits  me,"  said  Westley.  "Leave  your 
boy  in  charge  here  and  come  over  to  my  shack. 


11' 


li  P 


I'' 


ijl 
11 


84        TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 

I  want  to  get  right  down  to  business.  We'll 
have  a  bagful  of  mail  ready  for  Pierre  on  his 
next  trip  out." 

Duff  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe  in  a 
dazed  manner.  He  went  to  the  back  of  the 
store,  called  his  Indian  lad,  gave  him  some 
orders,  and  then  followed  Westley  from  the 
store. 

They  went  first  to  Duff's  cabin,  where  they 
obtained  a  Government  survey  map  of  the  coun- 
try, drawn  on  a  large  scale,  and  amplified  and 
elaborated  by  Duff  himself,  and  a  quantity  of 
paper  and  envelopes. 

With  these  they  waded  through  the  snow  to 
Westley's  shack;  and  the  first  piece  of  busi- 
ness attended  to  was  the  writing  of  the  store- 
keeper's resignation. 

"I'll  take  this  right  over  to  the  f r  3tor,"  said 
Duff.  "No  use  in  beating  about  the  bush.  I'll 
be  back  in  a  few  minutes." 

Duff  found  his  chief  at  the  writing-table, 
leaning  back  in  his  chair,  with  a  far-away  look 
in  his  mild  eyes.  He  placed  the  paper  on  the 
manuscript  in  front  of  him,  wide  open.  The  fac- 
tor took  it  up,  read  it,  and  puckered  his  brow. 

"Does  this  mean  that  you  are  leaving  the 
company's  service!"  he  asked. 

"That's  what  it  means,  sir,"  replied  Duff. 
"I've  goi  a  new  job  with  Mr.  Westley— a  job 
that  will  keep  me  busy." 


W' 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN        85 

He  outlined  it  briefly  to  the  factor. 

"Madii*»88,"  said  Mr.  Grant  "Stark  mad- 
ness. What  c'o  you  know  of  this  David  West- 
ley?  He  may  be  a  rogue,  or  he  may  be  a  fool, 
for  all  you  know  to  the  contrary. 

"Why,  Duff,  you  never  heard  his  name  be- 
fore he  came  here.  You  know  nothing  of  his 
past — and  he  may  not  be  worth  a  red  cent.  He 
blows  in  here,  from  down  river,  and  you  swallow 
him." 

''I  am  a  fair  judge  of  men,"  replied  Duff. 
"But  for  that  matter,  sir,  what  do  I  know  of 
your  past!  You  blew  in  on  me,  right  in  this 
post,  seven  years  ago,  and  you've  never  told 
me  anything  of  your  past  from  that  day  to 
this. 

"Fact  is,  you  have  always  seemed  to  keep 
clear  of  any  mention  of  your  past.  And  yet 
I've  never  held  that  against  you.  I  could  see 
for  myself  that  you  were  honest." 

The  factor  flushed.  "I  came  here  as  the 
factor — as  an  officer  of  the  company,"  he  re- 
torted. 

"That's  right,"  said  Duff.  "Well,  here's  my 
resignation,  anyway.  I  am  going  in  with  this 
Westley,  whether  you  approve  of  the  move  or 
not." 

"Good  lucl  to  you,"  replied  Grant,  pushing 
the  resignation  to  one  side,  and  taking  up  his 
pen. 


86        TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 


1 


Duff  returned  to  Westley,  and  they  imme- 
diately got  down  to  business. 

Westley  saw  nothing  of  Marie  or  of  Steve 
Canadian  that  day.  He  went  to  bed  early,  and 
slept  soundly. 

He  was  early  astir  in  the  morning,  cooked 
and  ate  his  breakfast  by  lamplight,  and  then 
dressed  for  a  day  in  the  open.  He  and  Duff 
were  to  do  a  day's  "cruising"  in  the  woods. 
Duff  arrived  before  the  sun  was  up,  with  snow- 
shoes  and  knapsack,  ax  and  rifle. 

It  was  several  hours  after  sunset  when  they 
got  back  to  the  post,  weary,  but  well  satisfied 
with  the  day's  work.  They  ate  supper  in  West- 
ley's  cabin;  after  which  Duff  went  to  his  own 
quarters,  and  David  fell  asleep  in  his  chair  be- 
fore the  stove. 

It  was  broad  daylight  when  he  was  awakened 
by  a  knocking  at  his  door.  He  stumbled  across 
the  room  on  stiff  and  aching  legs,  turned  the 
key  in  the  lock,  and  opened  the  door.  Pierre 
MacKim  stepped  across  the  threshold  and 
grasped  his  hand. 

"I  get  back  this  momin',"  said  Pierre.  "I 
see  Marie  already,  and  she  tell  me  how  you 
help  her — how  yot;  put  Steve  Canadian  out  of 
the  house.  That  was  mighty  fine,  mister.  Yes, 
that  was  good." 

"Oh,  that  was  nothing,"  replied  Westley  in  a 
somewhat  uncertain  tone  of  voice.    "Steve  isn't 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN        87 

dangerous.  But  come  in  and  sit  down,  Pierre, 
and  tell  me  all  about  your  trip.  You  found  it 
heavj  tramping,  I'll  swear." 

"Pretty  heavy,  yes,"  said  Pierre.  "No  sport 
an'  no  excitement.  I  see  one  b?g  bull  moose; 
but  he  travel  too  fast.  St.  Anr  s  mighty  slow 
little  village— worse  nor  the  wr  is.  I  got  three 
letters  for  you  this  time." 

He  drew  three  letters  from  his  pocket,  and 
placed  them  on  the  iable. 

"The  factwi,  he  stamp  them  all  right,  this 
momin',  an'  I  fetch  them  right  over  to  you. 
Grant,  he  postmaster  here,"  said  Pic  re. 

Westley  felt  a  tightening  at  his  throat,  a 
beating  of  blood  in  his  temples,  a  sudden  and 
brief  dimness  of  the  eyes,  as  he  took  up  the 
letters.  His  hand  trembled^  and  his  face  red- 
dened. He  felt  Pierre's  keen,  curious,  yet  half- 
shy  glance  upon  him. 

"Thank  you,  Pierre,"  he  said,  quiet  "They 
are  not  of  much  importance,  these  letters." 

"They  look  like  that  tc  me,  t'  o,"  said  Pierre. 
"They  don't  look  like  .  .x  thing  y.u  expect  very 
bad." 

"My  dear  fellow,  I  am  not  expecting  any- 
thing," returned  Westley. 

"I  get  breakfast  now,  mister,  an'  you  read 
the  letters,"  returned  Pierre.    "Coffee  an'  bacon, 
yes.    I  ain't  et  anything  yet  myself." 
Westley  opened  the   three   envelopes.     Two 


„. 


88 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 


contained  bills,  and  the  third  a  brief  conmiimica- 
tion  from  Hush. 
The  valet's  letter  was  as  follows: 


Dear  Sib: 

Your  letter  from  St.  Anne's  to  hand  and  instruc- 
tions noted.  In  accordance  with  those  instructions, 
I  have  refused  Captain  Joice  your  address,  and  have 
respectfully  informed  him  that  I  shall  be  del  jh ted 
to  forward  to  you  any  letter  he  may  wish  to  send. 

By  this  post  I  forward  two  letters  which  look  like 
bills.  You  left  me  no  instructions  as  to  bills,  sir ;  but 
if  you  wish  me  to  settle  these,  from  funds  in  hand, 
kindly  return  them  by  next  post.  The  house  is  in 
good  order,  sir. 

Your  uncle,  Mr.  Peter  Westley,  called  to- see  you 
yesterday.  He  was  sorry  not  to  find  you  at  home 
and  seemed  a  trifle  ruflfled  in  his  temper  when  he  failed 
to  obtain  your  present  address.  The  horses  in  town 
and  in  the  country  are  doing  well,  sir,  I  am  in  good 
health.  I  should  enjoy  being  in  the  woods  with  you, 
sir. 

I  am,  sir,  your  faithful  servant, 

James  Hush. 

"Now,  what  the  deuce  does  Joice  want  of  my 
address  ?"  reflected  Westley.  "He  wants  to  write 
to  me,  evidently;  which  is  a  new  thing.  We 
have  never  exchanged  as  much  as  a  line  in 
the  past — so  what's  biting  him  now?"  He 
smiled  bitterly. 

"I  think  I  can  guess.    Joice  is  an  honest  man, 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 


89 


and  of  course  wants  to  let  me  know  exactly  how 
the  land  lies,  and  to  give  me  fair  warning  of 
his  intentions.  Well,  it  is  happening  sooner 
than  I  expected;  but  it  is  none  of  my  business 
— now. 

"She  is  free,  Heaven  knows — as  far  as  I  am 
concerned.  There  is  nothing  for  him  to  write 
about  to  me,  the  poor  fool. 

"Surely  I  was  frank  enough  with  her.  Per- 
haps the  next  post  will  bring  me  a  letter  from 
her,  though  I  hope  not.  The  miserable  affair  is 
at  an  end ;  and  the  less  said,  the  sooner  mended. 
Doubtless  I  lost  my  temper,  but  I  cleaned  the 
bus-xiess  up,  anyway,  and  gave  her  her  liberty, 
and  there  it  ends." 

"You  get  one  letter  that  make  you  think  a 
heap,"  said  Pierre,  glancing  up  from  the  pan 
in  which  he  was  frying  bacon. 

"Yes,  a  letter  from  a — friend  of  mine,  a  man 
named  Hush.  He  is  a  good  fellow,  James  Hush," 
replied  Westley. 

"You  have  plenty  of  good  friends,  mister,  an* 
plenty  of  enemies,  I  guess,"  said  Pierre,  simply. 
"You  make  friends  quick — an'  enemy  too.  You 
make  good  friend  of  me  first  minute  you  see 
me ;  an'  Marie,  she  say  you  are  one  mighty  fine 
hero. 

"But  you  make  enemy  of  Stev^  Canadian  in 
one  minute.  That's  all  right.  Steve  Canadian 
don't  count  for  nothin'.    You  make  honest  man 


i 


t 


h 


90        TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 

yer  friend,  an'  bad  man  yer  enemy.  You  mighty 
honest  man  yerself,  mister." 

David  looked  at  the  woodsman,  and  away 
again. 

"I  am  no  hero,  Pierre,"  he  said,  "and  still 
less  a  saint." 

"You  mighty  good  man,  anyhow,"  returned 
Pierre,  with  conviction. 

Westley  put  the  letters  in  his  inner  pocket 
and  then  asked: 

"When  do  you  start  back  for  St.  Anne's?" 

"Not  to-morrow.  The  momin'  after  to-mor- 
row," answered  the  runner. 

"Mr.  Duff  and  I  will  have  a  big  bunch  of  let- 
ters for  you  to  take  out,"  said  Westley.  "We 
are  going  into  business  in  this  country." 

He  told  Pierre  his  plans  for  buying  land 
and  developing  the  country.  Pierre  was  aston- 
ished and  delighted. 

"You  give  me  job,  too,  maybe,"  he  said.  "I 
got  to  carry  mails  all  winter;  but  I  find  you 
plenty  of  men  for  the  lumber,  all  the  same. 
Trappin'  not  so  good  now'days,  an'  mighty  hard 
work.  You  live  heret  I  know  you  like  this 
country  mighty  well,  mister." 

"Yes,  it's  a  fine  country;  and  Pll  give  you  a 
good  job  the  minute  you  want  it,  Pierre,"  replied 
Westley. 

Duff  came  over,  and  he  and  Westley  worked 
and  talked  until  noon. 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN        91 

Pierre  spent  the  momiEg  at  Dominic's  cabin. 
After  dinner  the  three  entered  the  woods  behind 
the  post,  spying  out  the  land.  They  found  some 
bunches  of  splendid  pine  beyond  the  company's 
holdings. 

David  shot  a  moose;  and  they  all  returned 
before  the  green  and  red  of  sunset  had  faded 
from  the  western  sky. 

The  first  person  they  met  in  the  big  clearing 
was  Steve  Canadian.  He  did  not  speak  to  them, 
but  laughed  shrilly  as  he  passed  them,  and  en- 
tered the  timber.  It  was  quite  evident  that  he 
had  been  drinking  again. 

"I  wonder  where  the  fellow  goes  to,"  said 
Westley.  "He  vanishes  for  a  day  or  two,  and 
then  turns  up  again.  He  must  have  a  hiding- 
place  within  easy  reach  of  the  post." 

"We'll  smoke  him  out,  sooner  or  later,  if  he 
is  on  your  land,  Mr.  Westley,"  said  Duff. 

"I  guess  so,"  said  Pierre.  "I  think  maybe 
I  follow  him  some  day." 


I 


CHAPTER   VII 


A   LETTEB   IS  BURNED 

As  they  reached  Dominic  Benoit's  cabin,  the 
door  opened,  letting  out  Marie,  and  a  gush  of 
warmth  and  lamplight.  The  young  woman 
paused  uncertainly  within  a  few  yards  of  them 

Westley  and  Duff  halted,  and  Pierre  ad- 
vanced. Pierre  caught  her  hands  in  both  of 
his;  but  she  pulled  them  away. 

"What  the  troub\j,  now?"  asked  Pierre.  "You 
gettin'  almighty  shy.»» 

The  girl's  bright  eyes  looked  past  him  to 
Westley. 

"My  father  got  grand  new  fiddle  now,"  she 
said.  "You  hear  him  play  now,  happy  as  a 
baby.  Steve  Canadian  open  the  door  a  little 
while  ago,  an'  throw  it  in,  an'  not  say  a  word 
He  break  my  father's  old  fiddle,  monsieur,  that 
night  you  save  my  poor  father's  life." 

Westley  and  Duff  exchanged  glances.  Pierre 
seized  the  girl's  wrist. 

"I  don't  stand  for  that,"  exclaimed  Pierre. 
"No,  by  thunder  I  I  will  give  Dominic  one  new 
fiddle,  an'  he  smash  that  one  Steve  give  him. 

99 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 


98 


Yes,  I  get  him  grand  new  fiddle  down  to  St. 
Anne's  nex'  trip.  I  won't  stand  to  have  him 
play  on  the  fiddle  Steve  Canadian  give  him." 

"Oh,  Pierre,  you  my  father's  guardian,  may- 
be?" returned  Marie.  "I  think  my  father  do 
what  he  want  to,  whatever  you  say,  Pierre.  You 
never  save  his  life.  Yoj  never  drive  Steve 
Canadian  out  of  the  house.  Steve  Canadian 
own  the  whole  post,  for  all  you  do  to  him." 

Pierre  stared  at  the  girl  in  astonishment,  then 
looked  around  at  the  other  men  with  a  puzzled, 
pained  expression  on  his  thin  face!^  Duff 
laughed.     Westley  smiled  at  the  trapper. 

"You  must  not  try  to  run  things  too  soon, 
Pierre,"  said  Westley.  "That's  a  mistake  that 
wiser  men  have  made  before  this.  I  don't  know 
what  your  authority  is,  but  you  may  take  my 
word  for  it  that  it  isn't  all  that  you  think.  Better 
go  slow  until  you  are  married." 

"Married?"  queried  the  girl.  "Oh,  monsieur, 
I  never  say  yet  that  I  will  marry  Pierre  Mac- 
Kim.  He  say  so  plenty  times;  but  not  me.  I 
just  laugh  an'  say  p'raps.  Pierre  say  it  many 
an'  many  a  time.  I  like  Pierre  very  much,  yes. 
He  is  very  nice  boy;  except  when  he  try  to 
boss  me." 

Pierre  had  nothing  to  say.    He  looked  as  if 
he  had  been  hit  with  a  sand-bag.    Duff  laughed 
and  nudged  Westley's  arm. 
"Come  along  home,"  he  said.  "We  can't  stand 


94        TWO    SHALL   BE    BORN 


M 


and  freeze  here.  Let  them  fight  it  out  by  them- 
selves— or  with  the  help  of  papa  and  his  new 
fiddle,  if  they  like  it  better.  We'll  learn  nothing 
new  by  waiting.  Women  are  pretty  much  the 
same  in  the  woods  and  in  the  cities.'* 

So  DufF  and  Westley  passed  on  their  way, 
leaving  Marie  and  Pierre  standing  face  to 
face,  the  girl  laui,hing  merrily,  the  lover  frown- 
ing and  expostulating. 

Pierre  came  to  Westley's  cabin  late  that  night. 
He  looked  worried  and  sheepish. 

"I  don't  know  what  the  trouble  with  Marie," 
he  said,  dangling  his  heavy  fur  cap  between  his 
long  fingers.  "She  laugh  at  me;  and  Dominic 
kugh  too.  Dominic  Benoit  what  I  call  one  fool, 
anyho-7 — drunk  all  the  time,  an'  do  nothin'  but 
play  on  the  fiddle. 

"But  why  does  Marie  laugh  at  me?  She  don't 
like  that  Steve  Canadian,  I  know.  She  hate 
him  like  she  hate  skunk.  I  think  she  like  me— 
I  think  she  love  me ;  but  now  she  laugh  at  me." 
"Women— plenty  of  women— behave  like 
that,"  said  Westley.  "There  is  no  harm  in 
laughter,  P*erre.  You  had  better  go  about  your 
business  and  let  her  laugh.  It  is  better  that 
she  laughs  at  you  to  your  face  than  behind  your 
back.  Very  likely  she  is  fond  of  you,  and  in- 
tends to  marry  you;  but  don't  feel  too  sure  of  it 
until  it  happens." 
"I  guess  some  woman  make  a  fool  of  you. 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN       95 

maybe,»»  said  Pierre,  artlessly.  "An*  you  get 
wad,  just  like  me.  But  I  guess  your  girl  really 
love  you;  aii»  you  pretty  soon  get  over  bein* 
mad  at  her. 

"But  this  Marie— well,  she  just  laugh— an* 
one  minute  she  loves  me  an'  one  minute  she 
don't.  If  I  run  away  into  the  woods,  like  you 
—well,  she  laugh  some  more,  an'  think  it  mighty 
good  joke.  I  guess  your  girl  don't  laugh  at  you 
all  the  time,  mister." 

Westley  laid  down  his  pen,  flushed  darkly, 
and  frowned. 

"What  have  I  ever  said  to  you  to  lead  you 
to  thmk  that  I  have  been  treated  badly  by  a 
woman;  or  ever  cared  for  a  woman?"  he  asked 

Pierre  looked  frightened  and  uncomfortable  * 

"You  never  say  it,  mister,"  he  replied,  "but 
—but  you  look  that  way  to  me,  sometime- 
mighty  sore  an'  mad.  I  don't  know  what  else 
but  some  girl  make  you  so  sore,  an'  send  you 
up  into  this  country," 

"I  came  into  this  country  on  business,  and 
the  sport,"  said  Westley,  "and  if  I  look  sore 
sometimes,  Pierre,  it  is  the  way  my  face  is  made. 
You  talk  as  if  I  had  a  devilish  bad  temper,  and 
never  did  anything  but  gro^^l  and  bite" 

"I  don't  mean  that,"  returned  Pierre,  anxious- 
ly. "You  mighty  kind,  an'  treat  me  good.  I 
don't  mean  you  go  round  cussin'  folk,  but  I 
mean  you  don't  look  happy  all  the  time. 


I'',' 


J 


11: 

l# 
A. 


m. 


96        TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 

"I  like  you,  mister,  an'  think  you  the  finest 
man  I  ever  see— an'  mighty  brave.  I  don't 
want  to  make  you  mad;  for  I  guess  if  you  get 
real  mad  at  a  feller  you  stay  mad  a  long  time." 

Westley  laughed  good-naturedly. 

"I  am  not  angry  with  you,  Pierre,"  he  said, 
heartily.  "I  am  glad  you  think  1  am  brave,  and 
I  hope  you  are  not  mistaken.  I  don't  mind  tell- 
ing you  that  I  am  not  such  a  fine  fellow  as  you 
think,  nor  quite  such  a  fool  as  you  think. 

"I  used  to  be  a  fool,  but  that  is  neither  here 
nor  there.  Don't  try  inventing  silly  stories 
about  me;  and  when  I  look  sore  put  it  down  to 
a  bad  breakfast,  poor  sport,  or  business  cares. 

"Remember  these  things,  Pierre,  and  we'll 
never  fall  out,  if  I  can  help  it.  And  don't 
worry  too  much  about  Marie.  You  take  her 
laughter  too  seriously.  She'll  stop  it  when 
she  finds  she  has  nothing  to  laugh  about." 

The  next  day  passed  uneventfully.  Steve 
Canadian  did  not  appear. 

Before  suii-up  of  the  following  morning 
Pierre  MacKim  set  out  on  his  second  trip  to 
St.  Anne's  this  time  with  a  fine  bunch  of  let- 
ters from  David  Westley.  All  these  were  busi- 
ness letters,  save  one  to  Mr.  James  Hush. 

The  day  was  clear  and  cold  and  windless. 
Pierre  left  the  post  in  high  spirits,  for  Marie 
had  orily  laughed  at  him  once  during  the 
previous  evening,  and  had  promised  to  accept 


TWO   SHAi.^   BE   BORN        97 

a  new  fiddle  for  her  father,  and  to  destroy  the 
one  presented  by  the  Indian.  Also,  Westley 
had  promised  to  keep  his  eye  open  for  the  un- 
welcome suitor,  and  to  run  him  out  of  the  post 
if  he  tried  to  force  his  attentions  upon  Marie. 

David  called  on  the  factor  early  in  the  after- 
noon. He  was  interested  in  Grant,  and  he 
wanted  to  keep  on  friendly  terms  with  him.  He 
was  wise  enough  to  see  that,  no  matter  how 
hard  he  worked  in  the  wilderness,  he  would  often 
be  glad  of  the  society  of  a  man  who  had  seen 
the  outside  world  even  as  he  had  seen  it  him- 
self. 

Grant  was  a  queer  stick,  but  a  man  of  educa- 
tion and  breeding,  beyond  a  doubt.  And  again 
it  would  be  well  to  keep  on  friendly  terms  with 
him  as  the  factor  o:?  the  post 

For  the  sake  of  his  venture,  if  for  nothing 
else,  he  did  not  want  to  buck  against  the  old 
H.  B.  C.  So  he  shoved  a  couple  of  new  books 
into  his  pockets,  and  called  on  Grant.  He  found 
the  factor  at  his  cluttered  table,  pen  in  hand. 

"You  are  the  busiest  man  I  know,"  said  West- 
ley,  accepting  a  cigar. 

"Well,  a  man  must  work  at  something  in  this 
God-forsaken  hole,"  replied  Grant,  "even  if  the 
thing  he  does  isn't  worth  doing.  The  business 
of  the  post  does  not  amount  to  enough  to  keep 
me  awake— even  without  Duff— at  this  time  of 
year. 


Ill 


III 


m 


98        TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 

"Of  course  we  have  to  hustle  a  bit  when  the 
trappers  come  out  of  the  woods,  and  again  to 
outfit  them  for  the  winter's  work.  But  I  hear 
from  Duff  that  you  are  contemplating  a  venture 
in  this  country?" 

Westley  admitted  it;  and  for  several  minutes 
they  talked  of  the  chances  of  developing  the 
country  without  dropping  a  fortune.  Grant  was 
of  the  pinion  tliat  it  could  not  be  done;  but 
he  admitted,  at  the  same  time,  that  he  knew 
nothing  about  it. 

"I  don't  like  the  country,"  he  said.  "I  know 
a  little  about  the  fur  trade,  and  that  is  all.  You 
may  be  right  about  the  timber,  but  your  idea 
that  this  country  can  be  farmed  seems  madness 
to  me." 

"Duff  has  kept  a  record  of  sunshine  and  frost 
for  the  past  seven  years,"  replied  Westley,  "and 
that  is  what  I  am  going  by.  Has  he  ever  shown 
you  his  record!  It  is  interesting  and  enlighten- 
ing." 

Grant  shook  his  head.  "I  am  afraid  I  have 
shown  no  more  interest  in  Duff's  records  of 
frost  and  sunshine  than  he  had  displayed  in  this 
foolish  occupation  of  mine." 

He  smiled  mournfully,  and  waved  his  cigar 
above  the  scattered  pages  of  manuscript  on  the 
table  in  front  of  him. 

"That  looks  interesting  to  me — but  I  haven't 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 


99 


the  faintest  idea  what  it's  all  about/*  said  West- 
ley. 

"What  does  it  look  like!**  asked  Grant,  nerv- 
ously yet  eagerly. 

"From  here,  and  by  the  bulk  of  it,  it  might 
be  a  history  of  the  Ancient  and  Honorable,  the 
Hudson  Bay  Company,"  said  Westley. 

"You  are  wrong,"  replied  the  factor.  "That 
is  what  it  should  be  if  I  had  any  sense  of  the 
fitness  of  things.  Yes,  there  would  be  promo- 
tion in  that,  and  a  chance  to  go  back  to  civiliza- 
tion, perhaps. 

"But  I  am  afraid  I  couldn't  have  written  it, 
even  if  I  had  thought  of  it.  This— this  thing 
is  a  novel.  I'm  a  bigger  fool  than  you  thoug' t, 
hey?  And  I  have  three  more  of  ther^  locked 
away  in  a  box." 

Westley  was  astonished.  He  had  not  expected 
to  find  a  novelist  at  Two  Moose  House,  in  the 
Smoky  River  country.  It  was  about  the  last 
thing  he  had  expected  to  find  there. 

"Think  of  that,"  he  said.  "But  why  do  you 
feel  so  sore  about  it?  I  know  a  couple  of  chaps 
who  write  novels — mighty  slushy  ones,  too — ana 
you  may  take  my  word  for  it  they  consider 
themselves  anything  but  fools. 

"They  live  in  London,  and  one  of  them  has  a 
place  in  the  country.  They  are  good  fellows, 
and  though  some  of  their  stories  are  so  soft 


t. 


H 


IS 

Iff 


100      TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 

that  you  sink  in  thoin  up  to  your  knees,  they 
have  both  written  a  few  pretty  good  books;  but 
I  haven't  a  doubt  your  novels  are  just  as  good." 

The  factor's  mild  eyes  brightened,  and  he 
plucked  nervously  at  his  untidy  beard. 

"You  don't  know  what  you  are  running  your 
head  into,"  he  said.  "I  have  written  four 
whacking,  long  novels — yes,  four,  now  that  this 
one  is  finished — and  not  a  soul  but  myself  has 
seen  so  much  as  one  line  of  any  of  them.  West- 
ley,  I  fear  that  you  are  not  a  particularly  good- 
natured  chap." 

"I  beg  to  differ  with  you.  I  am  good- 
natured,"  returned  Westley. 

"Then  Heaven  help  you!"  exclaimed  Grant. 
"Here,  take  this  home  with  you,  and  read  as 
much  of  it  as  you  can  stand.  But  wait  a  min- 
ute. I'll  tie  it  up  for  you,  and  then  we  must 
have  a  drink. 

"And  you  must  promise  to  let  me  know  ex- 
actly what  you  think  of  it  Sometimes  I  think 
the  stuff  is  fairly  good,  and  at  other  times  I 
am  firmly  convinced  that  it  is  absolute  rot.  Gad, 
now  I'll  know." 

"I  shall  be  delighted  to  read  it,"  said  West- 
ley  ;  "but  you  must  not  think  that  I  am  a  critic 
of  books.  However,  I'll  tell  you  frankly  what 
I  think  of  it,  if  you  really  care  to  hear." 

He  returned  to  his  cabin  half  an  hour  later, 
encumbered  with  the  bulky  manuscript  tied  up 


'««    r^^BT-;* 


w 


-mjp 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN      101 

in  brown  paper,  and  well  satisfied,  with  the 
friendly  outcome  of  his  visit 

He  felt  sorry  for  Grant,  and  slightly  amnsed 
by  him.  He  wondered  what  trick  of  chance 
had  brought  him  into  the  Smoky  River  country, 
and  forced  him  to  the  writing  of  novels  by  way 
of  diversion. 

Two  Moose  House,  and  the  huts  around  it, 
seemed  to  sleep  like  a  bear  through  the  winter 
days.  Westley  found  it  very  slow;  and  there 
was  no  work  for  him  to  put  his  hands  to  until 
he  should  hear  from  the  High  Commissioner  of 
Crown  Lands,  at  Ottawa,  concerning  his  ap- 
plication for  twenty  thousand  acres  of  land. 

He  kept  away  from  Dominic's  cabin.  He  had 
only  been  inside  it  once  since  his  arrival  at  tJie 
post,  and  that  was  when  he  had  entered  to 
deal  with  Steve  Canadian. 

He  met  Marie  in  the  open  several  times,  but 
only  to  exchange  the  most  formal  gr  -stings 
with  her.  He  saw  nothing  of  Steve  Canadian, 
who  was  evidently  in  hiding.  He  read  the 
opening  chapters  of  Grant's  novel,  and  found 
them  astonishingly  good. 

The  story  was  of  the  Kind  generally  known 
as  an  historical  romance,  and  yet  it  was  un- 
like any  other  of  its  kind  that  he  had  ever 
read. 

Treatment  and  matter  were  both  unusual.  The 
time  of  the  story  was  the  Middle  Ages,  in  the 


ill 


102       TWO    SHALL   BE    BORN 

reign  of  William  Rufus  of  England,  as  nearly 
as  he  could  judge. 

In  the  first  five  chapters,  which  was  as  far  as 
he  went  before  Pierre's  return  from  St.  Anne's, 
no  mention  was  made  of  any  king  by  name.  The 
hero  of  the  story  seemed  to  be  an  English  for- 
ester, in  the  employ  of  a  gentleman  by  the  name 
of  Richard  Fitz  Ooff.  In  the  first  chapter 
Hugo,  the  Norman's  baron's  armorer,  pulls  out 
an  aching  tooth  for  Dick  the  forester — pulls  it 
out  with  a  bow-string. 

And  that  is  the  way  it  went,  brisk  and  un- 
usual, and  strangely  real.  Westley  wondered 
where  Grant  had  picked  up  the  ideas  and  the 
color. 

His  opinion  of  the  factor  changed  for  the 
better.  The  slow,  mild-eyed  fellow  was  evi- 
dently possessed  of  a  pretty  weighty  brain  of 
its  kind. 

Pierre  returned  from  his  second  trip,  with  a 
letter  for  Westley  addressed  in  Hush's  hand. 
But  the  letter  was  not  from  Hush.  Westley 
glanced  at  the  front  of  it,  then  swiftly  at  the 
foot  of  the  last  page.  He  read  the  name  of 
Walter  Joice,  swore  derisively,  opened  the  door 
of  the  stove,  and  threw  the  letter  into  the  fire. 

"Hang  him,"  he  said,  "let  him  go  ahead  with- 
out so  much  talk  about  it.  I  am  out  of  his  way, 
and  that's  all  I  want  to  know  about  it.  I  don't 
want  any  pity  or  any  preaching.    If  he  wants 


•-■{J 


TP 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN      103 

her— well,  it  is  none  of  my  business ;  but  I  cer- 
tainly don't  intend  to  dance  at  the  wedding." 

Pierre  stared  at  him  with  wide  eyes. 

"You  don't  read  that  letter,"  he  said.  "That 
looks  foolish  to  me.  Maybe  it  is  mighty  im- 
portant." 

Westley  turned  on  him  sharply. 

"You  have  too  much  to  say,  MacKim.  Mind 
your  own  business,  will  you.  When  I  want  you 
to  attend  to  mine  I'll  ask  you  to  do  it^and  I'll 
pay  you  for  the  trouble," 

Pierre  looked  crestfallen,  and  presently  left 
the  cabin.  He  went  to  Dominic's  house,  and 
told  Marie  that  David  was  surely  in  a  very  bad 
temper  about  some  girl. 

Marie  laughed  at  him,  but  he  persisted  in 
his  belief  that  Westley  was  very  mad  and  very 
foolish,  and  all  because  he  had  fallen  out  with 
the  girl  he  loved. 

"Did  he  tell  you  he  loves  a  girl  in  New 
York?"  asked  Marie. 

"He  don't  need  to— I  see  it,"  said  Pierre. 
"And  he  look  hungry  when  I  bring  the  mail- 
hungry  for  one  letter  from  her.  Wlien  he  find 
the  letter  not  the  right  one,  he  chuck  it  into 
the  stove  an'  cuss  like  desperation. 

"I  tell  him  that  maybe  he  make  a  mistake  to 
burn  the  letter,  an'  he  tell  me  then  to  go  to  an' 
'tend  to  my  own  business. 
"Oh,  Westloy  has  a  temper,  yes,  but  he  is  a 


r- 


104      TWO    SHALL   BE    BORN 


I  fi 


mighty  fine  man  all  the  same,  an*  a  good  feller 
when  he  ain't  mad." 

"Pierre,"  said  Marie,  "yon  pretty  foolish  in 
the  head.  You  better  not  say  anything  to  M. 
Westley  about  his  girl,  if  it  make  him  mad. 
He  may  kill  you.  I  guess  he  never  had  a  girl, 
anyway — a  girl  he  really  love,  like  you  think." 

"Oh,  yes,  he  has,"  returned  Pierre.  "He  tell 
me  once  that  he  know  a  girl  in  New  York 
prettier  than  you,  Marie." 

Marie's  eyes  brightened  and  gazed  over  the 
mail-runner's  head  unseeingly. 

"I  think  he  must  see  plenty  of  girls  prettier 
than  Marie  Benoit,"  she  said. 

"And  why  not!  I  am  nothing  but  one  wild 
French  girl,  'way  up  in  the  woods." 

Pierre  set  out  again  with  his  majesty's  mails. 
Duff  and  Westley  ran  lines  through  the  woods, 
for  Duff  was  a  qualified  land-surveyor.  More 
snow  fell. 

Steve  r  anadian  remained  away  from  the  post. 
On  the  night  of  the  second  day  after  Pierre's 
departure,  Westley  met  Marie  near  the  door 
of  Dominic's  cabin.  The  man  was  for  passing 
on,  but  the  woman  called  his  name  softly. 

He  halted  and  turned  toward  her,  and  she 
ran  to  him. 

"Monsieur,  I  know  where  you  find  Steve 
Canadian,"  she  said. 

"But  I  don't  want  to  find  him,"  replied  David. 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN      105 

"So  long  as  he  behaves  himself  quietly  he  does 
not  bother  me.  He  has  not  done  anything  very 
bad,  so  far  as  I  know ;  and  I  have  certainly  had 
the  last  word  with  him.  No,  Marie,  I  am  not 
bloodthirsty;  and  I  don't  hold  any  grudge 
against  that  poor,  drunken  Indian." 

"He  says  he  will  kill  you  some  day,  mon- 
sieur." 

"His  bark  is  worse  than  his  bite.  Fact  is,  I 
don't  think  he  has  a  bite." 

"I  feel  afraid,"  said  Marie.  "He  dare  not  try 
to  hurt  you  in  the  daylight,  monsieur,  or  when 
you  have  your  eyes  open ;  but  maybe  he  do  you 
some  harm  when  you  sleep  some  night.  Oh, 
it  make  me  afraid  all  the  time,  monsieur." 

Westley  looked  at  her  keenly  and  inquiringly. 
Her  round  face  was  a  shadow  in  the  starlight, 
but  her  wonderful  eyes  were  alive  and  clear. 
Her  lids  lowered  before  his  gaze. 

"It  is  very  good  of  you  to  think  of  me,"  he 
said,  slowly.  "I  don't  know  why  yu  do;  but 
it  is  kind  of  you — and  I  am  glad. 

"But  you  must  not  worry  any  more.  Steve 
will  not  hurt  me.  Even  if  he  wants  to  I'll  ^ee 
that  he  gets  no  chance.  He  has  not  tried  to  hurt 
me  yet — and  it  is  a  long  time  since  I  first  bucked 
up  against  him.  He  hasn't  any  spirit — he  hasn't 
the  blood  of  a  fly." 

She  raised  her  fine  eyes,  dark  and  tender  and 
melting   with    starlight,  to    him.     He   laughed 


Mil 


* 


,':^i.fe.-' ■ '  ^'or*-T*  ''.'it'-'hi:: 


106      TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 

quietly,  with  a  note  of  nervousness  and  con- 
fusion. 

"You  are  very  beautiful,"  he  said.  "I  did 
not  think  anything  in  this  country  could  be  so 
beautiful  as  you." 

"You  say — you  know  more  pretty  girls  in 
New  York,"  whispered  Marie. 

"Their  hearts  are  not  like  yours,"  he  replied, 
unsteadily. 

"Oh,  monsieur,  you  think  my  heart  is  bad," 
returned  the  girl  with  a  pitiful  little  tremor  in 
her  voice  as  if  tears  tripped  the  words. 

"No,"  said  Westley.  "I  think  your  heart  is 
as  beautiful  as  your  face.  I  think  it  is  tender 
and — artless." 

He  turned  quickly  and  would  have  gone  im- 
mediately to  hifs  cabin  had  she  not  recalled  him. 

"Monsieur"  she  called  softly.  "I  see  Steve 
Canadian  to-night  in  the  factor's  house." 

Westley  returned  to  her. 

"In  the  factor's  house?"  he  queried.  "You 
must  be  mistaken.  What  would  Grant  have  that 
rascally  Indian  in  his  house  for?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said.  "Monsieur  Grant 
a  very  queer  man.  I  see  Steve  in  his  house  to- 
night, anyhow,  sitting  by  the  big  table,  an*  Mon- 
sieur the  Factor  sitting  near  him,  stooped  over 
the  table  an'  writing,  writing." 

"And  after  all,  why  not?"  said  Westley.  "The 


4>:.iBaHi^^wsK 


7^^sfiafar^tjfi&^:: 


>iWTfk  7 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN      107 

Indian  is  not  an  outlaw.  The  factor  has  a 
right  to  entertain  whom  he  pleases." 

"You  come  with  me  an'  I  show  you,  mon- 
sieur"  whispered  the  girl,  slipping  her  fur- 
gloved  hand  into  his. 

"No,"  said  Westley.  "No,  my  dear,  I'll  not 
spy  on  anyhody.  Steve  Canadian  is  not  an  out- 
law, as  I've  said;  and  the  factor  is  queer,  I'll 
admit — hut  he  is  a  great  man.  He  has  a  per- 
fect right  to  entertain  the  Indian  if  he  wants 
to." 

He  lifted  the  girl's  hand,  pulled  off  the  glove 
and  touched  his  lips  swiftly  to  the  smooth,  warm 
flesh. 

Then  he  turned  and  strode  away,  with  some- 
thing half  sweet,  half  bitter,  singing  in  head 
and  heart  He  entered  his  own  cabin  without 
looking  back. 


^^^^? 


"»•■  ■Vi,'  I  e*    -i  ■ ),  ■''■mPM  :'•  '• '.  'iitm 


I 


CHAPTER  VIII 


THE   SNEAK-THIEF 


■1 ' 


Pierre  MacKim  came  in  from  Si  Anne's  with 
two  telegrams  for  David.  One  was  from  West- 
ley's  bankers  in  New  York,  and  stated  that  his 
instructions  had  come  to  hand,  and  that  the 
sum  named  had  been  deposited  to  his  account 
in  the  Royal  Bank  of  Canada,  in  Ottawa. 

The  other  communication  was  from  the  office 
of  the  commissioner  of  crown  lands  and  stated 
that  Westley  could  have  the  lands  applied  for 
at  the  price  named,  and  that  the  deeds  for  the 
same  would  be  forwarded  to  him  immediately 
upon  receipt  of  check  for  twenty  per  cent,  of 
the  price ;  and  that  particulars  followed  by  post. 

Besides  these  telegrams  there  was  p  letter 
from  Hush.    It  was  as  follows: 


Respected  and  Dear  Sir  : 

I  think  it  is  my  duty  to  inform  you  that  Mr.  John 
Angus  Gordon  called  to  see  you  yesterday.  Mr.  Gor- 
don said,  "Tell  your  master  that  the  longer  he  stays 
in  the  woods  the  better  I'll  like  it." 

He  seemed  to  be  in  a  very  excitable  mood,  sir,  and 
I  took  the  liberty  to  offer  him  refreshment,  sir,  which 

108 


..^'b 


'1 
^1 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN      109 

same  he  refused,  though  politely.  He  offered  me  five 
dollars,  very  generously;  but  I  informed  him,  with 
all  due  respect,  that  if  he  felt  that  he  could  not  ac- 
cept my  master's  liquor  I  felt  that  I  could  not  accept 
his  gift.  He  then  permitted  me  to  bring  a  Scotch  and 
soda  to  the  library  for  him;  and  after  that,  sir,  I 
could  not  refuse  his  tip. 

He  left  the  house  in  quite  a  cheerful  humor,  sir. 
At  the  door  he  said,  "TeU  your  master  that  it  is  all 
his  own  fault  and  that  he  behaved  like  a  fool." 

I  am  doing  no  more  than  my  duty,  sir,  in  forward- 
ing his  message.  He  did  not  ask  for  your  address. 
Sir. 

I  am  lonely.  The  house  is  in  good  order.  I  think 
I  could  find  a  respectable  caretaker  for  it  if  you  want 
me  to  come  to  the  woods,  sir.  I  am  very  fond  of  the 
woods. 

I  am,  sir,  your  faithful  servant, 

James  Hush. 

Westley  read  the  letter  twice,  with  mixed  and. 
conflicting  emotions.  So  old  Gordon  was  glad 
to  have  him  out  of  the  way?  Well,  that  was 
exactly  what  he  had  expected  to  hear.  Of  course 
Gordon,  the  shrewd  juggler  of  Wall  Street, 
could  see  at  a  glance  that  Captain  Walter  Joice 
was  a  better  match  for  any  girl  than  David 
Westley. 

Gordon  knew  enough  of  the  value  of  money 
to  know  that,  beyond  a  certain  point,  it  was 
not  so  important  as  certain  other  things.    Well, 


1 


1 


Ik. 


110      TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 

that  was  all  right.    He  was  glad  Gordon  was 
pleased. 

And  Dorothy,  of  course,  was  better  pleased 
than  her  father.  She  had  taken  him  at  his 
word— which  was  proof  that  she  had  been  work- 
ing toward  the  break  in  their  relations  for  some 
time.  Of  course  he  had  been  a  fool,  as  old 
Gordon  said. 

He  smiled  bitterly.  "Hush  is  true,  anyway," 
he  said. 

"Hush  is  a  good  fellow— and  I  am  inclined 
to  think  that  Joice  is  square,  too.  He  was 
decent  enough  to  write  to  me.  He  plays  fair- 
like  the  best  of  his  kind. 

"I  wonder  what  he  had  to  say  in  that  letter? 
Well,  I'm  glad  I  don't  know.  A  bit  of  a  ser- 
mon, likely,  and  some  pity — and  best  wishes  for 
a  happy  life — and  sor^ething  about  Dorothy's 
grief  at  having  hurt  an  old  friend — and  an  in- 
vitation to  the  wedding. 

"Bah!  Now  that  she  has  what  she  wants  I 
hope  they'll  all  leave  me  alone.  If  I  was  a  fool 
I'll  stand  by  the  results  without  their  help.  Goo4 
old  Hush.  Perhaps  I'll  send  for  him  one  of 
these  days." 

At  that  moment  Duff  entered  the  cabin,  and 
Westley  crumpled  the  letter  and  thrust  it  into 
his  pocket.  Duff  was  delighted  and  excited  by 
the  communications  from  the  government  and 
the  bankers. 


'rm*^^T^'.^i^s"i^e:7jjr-''^w'w^nF;^K'    , 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN      111 

"Now  we  can  go  right  ahead,"  he  cried.  "We 
must  get  a  crew  of  men  from  St.  Anne's  and  put 
them  right  to  work  at  the  tall  timber.  Maybe 
we'll  have  to  go  farther  than  St  Anne's  for  the 
men  and  horses  we'll  need." 

Westley  finished  reading  the  factor's  novel 
that  night,  and  next  morning  he  took  it  back  to 
its  author.  He  had  not  seen  Grant  since  the  day 
the  manuscript  had  been  given  to  him. 

Grant  was  still  at  the  table  with  a  cigar  be- 
tween his  teeth.  It  was  quite  evident  that  he 
was  already  engaged  on  another  novel.  His 
beard  was  even  more  untidy  than  before,  and 
the  far-away  look  in  his  mild  eyes  was  more 
far-away  than  ever.  He  welcomed  Westley 
cordially  but  with  an  air  of  nervous  anxiety. 

"Well!"  he  queried.  And  then— with  a  faint 
and  uncertain  note  of  laughter— "Put  on  the 
black  cap  and  have  done  with  it.'* 

Westley  placed  the  manuscript  on  a  comer 
of  the  table. 

"There's  no  black  cap  coming  from  me,"  he 
said.  "The  yam  is  the  best  of  its  kind  that 
I've  read  since  *Forest  Lovers.'  I'm  no  critic; 
but  I  tell  you  it  is  fine  staff.  It  is  real.  The 
quicker  you  send  it  out  to  some  publisher  the 
sooner  you'll  be  known  to  the  world." 

Grant's  thin  face  flushed  above  the  untidy 
beard.  His  mild  eyes  shone.  He  licked  his 
lips. 


F9«F.- 


ti'OJ 


112      TWO    SHALL   BE    BORN 

"See  here— don't  joke,"  he  said  breathlessly. 

"I  mean  what  I  say — every  word  of  it,"  re- 
turned Westley. 

The  factor  got  unsteadily  to  his  feet  and 
jjlaced  his  thin  hands  on  the  edge  of  the 
table. 

"Do  you  mean— that  you— think  the  story 
was  worth  writing— and  worth  reading?"  he 
asked. 

"That  is  what  I  mean,"  replied  Westley.  "It 
is  more  to  my  taste — more  my  idea  of  a  good 
novel— than  any  yam  I've  read  in  years.  It 
is  a  wonder.  I  don't  see  how  the  deuce  you 
did  it." 

"My  Heaven !"  exclaimed  the  factor.  He  sank 
into  his  chair,  hunched  himself  forward  and 
hid  his  face  between  his  hands. 

AVestley  was  discomfited.  He  hemmed  and 
hawed  and  shuflSed  his  m-  asined  feet  on  the 
caribou  hide  beneath  his  chair.  This  was  very 
bad  form  on  Grant's  part,  he  reflected  des- 
perately. 

Why  should  a  man — and  a  gentleman,  at 
that— make  such  a  sloppy  fuss  just  because  of 
writing  a  good  novel?  Confound  the  fellow, 
anyway,  with  his  mysterious  past,  his  whiskers 
and  his  novels.  Something  must  be  done — 
quick. 

"Buck  ivj,"  said  Westley.  "Brace  up,  for 
Heaveu'«  ^ake.    Wiiat  the  deuce  is  the  matter 


,:*c''wawv  vk' jrj  Jaw-TOf  f 


"'■.'11 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN      118 


with  you,  ftnywayY  You  are  making  an  ass  of 
yourself. 

Grant,  with  his  face  still  hidden  between  his 
hands,  began  to  laugh.  His  laughter  did  not 
sound  normal,  even  quite  sane.  Westley  left 
his  seat  and  poured  a  big  nip  of  whisky  into 
the  glass. 

"Here,  take  this,  and  brace  up,"  he  com- 
manded. 

The  factor  straightened  himself  suddenly  in 
his  chair.  His  mild  blue  eyes  were  full  of  tears 
and  his  mouth  was  twisted  between  grief  and 
mirth.  He  brushed  his  right  hand  swiftly 
across  his  eyes,  then  extended  it  and  took  the 
glass. 

"Westley,"  he  said,  "you  are  an  honest  man. 
You  like  my  story,  c.xid  you  say  so.  You  think 
I  am  an  ass — and  you  tell  me  so.  I  am  worse 
than  an  ass.    I  am  a  fool  and  a  weakling. 

"But — but  I  can  brace  up  without  the  help 
of  this.  Yes,  I  can — and  I'll  prove  it.  Why 
should  I  let  it  kill  me  now! — now  that  the  door 
is  open  for  met  The  door  is  open,  "\.estley — 
the  door  that — Oh,  I  talk  like  an  idiot." 

With  a  quick  turn  of  the  wrist  he  emptied 
the  whisky  on  the  floor.  Some  of  the  liquor 
splashed  across  Westley's  feet.    Grant  laughed. 

"Westley,  you  are  a  man,  a  strong  man,"  he 
said.  "Please  forgive  my  frankness.  Your 
strength  is  your  weakness." 


:  J 


!i;r| 


i 


ill 


,.f  i 


114      TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 

He  pulled  some  keys  from  his  pocket  and 
gave  them  to  the  bewildered  New  Yorker. 

"Take  them,"  he  said.  "They'll  open  the 
sideboard  in  the  dining-room  and  a  cupboard 
in  my  bedroom.  Clean  them  out — please — for 
Heaven's  sake.  In  the  cellar  you'll  find  wines. 
This  is  the  key.  Leave  me  half  a  dozen  of  claret, 
nothing  more. 

"Take  the  rest,  Westley,  like  a  good  fellow 
— and  hiJe  it  all  in  your  own  cabin  or  in  the 
woods. 

"I  mean  it.  You'll  be  doing  me  a  great 
service,  man.  I  must  brace  up  now,  you  see; 
for  if  you  are  right  about  this  story,  I'll  go 
back  to  the  world.  I  will  send  it  out  by  Pierre. 
I  know  the  names  of  a  few  publishers." 

Westley  took  the  keys;  and  before  midnight, 
with  Duff's  assistance  he  had  cleaned  out  the 
factor's  store  of  wines  and  spirits,  k-aviug  only 
half  a  dozen  bottles  of  claret  in  the  house. 

"The  poor  chap  intends  to  make  a  fight  for 
it,"  he  said  to  Duff,  "and  I  think  we  can  do 
more  than  simply  deprive  him  of  his  grog.  I 
think  he  is  lonely — and  he  is  writing  too  hard." 

Afte.  that  Westley  made  a  point  of  looking 
in  at  the  factor  at  least  once  in  every  day.  Poor 
Grant  was  as  nervous  as  the  proverbial  cat, 
what  with  his  sudden  change  in  habits  and 
anxiety  concerning  the  manuscript  which  he 
had  sent  out  to  the  world. 


TWO    SHALL    BE   BORN      115 

Westley  dragged  him  away  from  his  writing- 
table  and  into  the  woods  with  himself  and  Duff 
as  often  as  he  could  without  using  physical 
force. 

On  the  twenty-first  of  November  Pierre  re- 
turned from  St.  Anne's  with  a  dozen  men, 
Scotchmen,  Frenchmen,  and  half-bre«ds,  and 
four  horses. 

Duff  took  them  in  hand,  and  the  work  of 
putting  up  a  big  camp  of  logs,  a  stable,  and 
a  store  for  provisions,  clothing,  fodder,  and 
grain  was  immediately  commenced. 

This  crew  was  a  mixed  lot;  a  few  of  its  mem- 
bers were  hard  tickets;  but  every  man-jack 
of  them  was  a  wonder  to  work.  Roads  were 
"svamped"  through  the  tall  timber  and  tangled 
brush,  the  big  spruces  and  pines  were  brought 
roaring  down,  and  Westley's  first  camp  was 
built  on  a  bluff  on  his  own  land,  overlooking 
the  frozen  river,  just  half  a  mile  below  Two 
Moose  House. 

Westley  spent  the  greater  part  of  every  day 
with  these  men,  though  he  continued  to  sleep 
in  his  cabin  at  the  post.  Grant  was  often  with 
him,  and  Duff  always. 

Duff  acted  as  boss,  storekeeper,  and  paymas- 
ter. Grant  wandered  about  at  Westley's  heels, 
gazing  at  the  activities  with  mild  and  uncom- 
prehending eyes  and  smoking  innumerable 
cigars. 


fhl 


i\n 


^■! 


116      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

Westley  felt  an  interest  that  was  almost 
violent  in  the  work  of  these  rough  men  who 
felled  his  trees,  and  ate  his  food,  and  took  his 
wages.  He  was  a  good  axman,  and  often  dis- 
carded his  blanket  "jumper"  and  brought  down 
a  few  trees  with  his  own  hands. 

The  men  watched  him  furtively  and  said 
nothing,  sizing  him  up.  They  could  see  that 
he  was  big;  they  had  heard  that  he  was  very 
rich ;  what  they  wanted  to  know  were  the  meas- 
urements and  quality  of  his  spirit. 

Westley  and  Duff  framed  a  few  rules  and 
hung  them  in  the  camp.  The  chief  of  these 
was  that  no  liquor  was  allowed  to  be  drunk  dur- 
ing the  week,  and  that  any  man  who  drank 
heavily  on  Sunday  did  so  at  his  own  risk,  for 
if  he  should  happen  to  be  unfit  for  work  on 
Monday  morning  he  would  be  sent  packing  back 
to  St.  Anne's. 

"That's  a  good  rule,"  said  Duff;  "but  as  sure 
as  the  devil  made  small  potatoes,  it  will  give 
us  some  trouble.  They  can  buy  all  the  rum 
they  want  at  the  company's  store;  and  some 
of  them  will  be  sure  to  want  a  lot. 

"Then  there'll  be  high  jinks — but  I  am  think- 
ing that  we  can  hold  them  down,  Mr.  Westley. 
We've  both  had  the  proper  training  for  open- 
ing up  a  new  country." 

More  men  came  in  to  work  for  Westley,  and 


'iMmiaMT^'m^dm^ 


TWO    SHALL    BE    30RN      117 


, 


9mi 


the  last  of  the  thirty  sleeping  bunks  in  Number 
One  Camp  was  filled. 

Things  went  ahe«^,^  without  a  hitch  for  two 
weeks— and  then  here  was  a  Ight  Duff  hap- 
pened to  be  on  aiui,  howe/er,  and  with  the 
help  of  a  big  Nca  S^-tinn  by  the  name  of 
Archie  Stewart,  he  parted  the  antagonists  be- 
fore any  damage  was  done. 

The  fighters,  both  of  whom  were  French 
'breeds,  had  drawn  their  knives.  This  fact 
aroused  Duff's  ire,  and  he  gave  the  offenders 
a  talking  to  that  made  them  hang  their  heads. 
The  camp  was  with  him  in  this,  for  most  of 
the  men  believed  in  fighting  with  their  hands 
(and  a  foot  now  and  then),  and  the  rest  pre- 
tended to. 

During  all  this  time  Steve  Canadian  had  not 
shown  his  ugly  face  in  or  about  the  post,  to 
Westley's  kno-vledge.  One  night,  however,  re- 
turning late  to  his  cabin  from  the  camp,  he  met 
Marie  Benoit. 

He  had  avoided  Marie  of  late,  against  his 
will  but  according  to  his  better  judgment,  and 
had  not  exchanged  more  than  a  dozen  words 
with  her  since  that  night  he  had  withdrawn  her 
glove  and  kissed  her  hand. 

"Some  one  break  into  your  cabin  to-night, 
monsieur,"  said  Marie.  "I  see  a  little  light  at 
the  window,  for  just  one  second,  about  an  hour 


I 


ui 


n 


1:'« 


118      TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 


s 


ago.  I  think  it  Steve  Canadian,  maybe,  so  I 
was  afraid  to  go  and  see." 

They  hastened  along,  David  leading  the  way 
in  the  narrow  path  trodden  deep  in  the  snow. 
Marie  kept  close  at  his  heels.  They  crossed 
the  big  clearing.  The  factor  had  not  been  in 
the  woods  that  day;  and  now  David  noticed  a 
light  in  one  of  the  windows  of  the  big  house. 

He  went  straight  to  his  own  cabin.  The  heavy 
door  of  planks  opened  at  a  touch  of  his  hand. 
The  lock  had  been  forced.  He  was  about  to 
enter  the  dark  interior  when  Marie  arrested  him 
on  the  threshold  by  clutching  his  left  arm,  from 
behind,  with  both  her  hands. 

"He  may  be  there  now,  monsieur,"  she  whis- 
pered. "He  may  be  there  in  the  dark,  waiting 
to  kill  you." 

Westley  saw  sound  common  sense  in  this.  He 
would  be  a  fool  to  run  a  needless  risk  of  being 
shot  now  that  he  had  a  big  bit  of  work  to  do — 
now  that  life  had  become  a  real  thing  to  him. 
Quick  as  a  flash  he  stepped  aside  from  the  open 
door,  sweeping  the  girl  with  him. 

"You  are  right,  Marie,"  he  said.  "But  what 
am  I  to  do'" 

"Is  your  revolver  in  your  pocket,  monsieur?" 
whispered  ih<^  girl,  standing  very  close  to  him 
in  the  deep  snow  beside  the  open  door. 

Westley  shook  his  head.  "I  don't  carry  a  re- 
volver," he  said. 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN      119 

"You  tome  over  here  by  the  wood-pile  and 
wait,"  she  whispered.  «I  go  to  my  cabin  and 
get  my  father's  revolver  and  bring  it  to  you— 
and  you  make  '  ^orch  of  bark." 

He  obeyed  her  and  took  cover  near  his  own 
wood-pile. 

She  darted  away  into  the  uncertain  star- 
shine.  He  tore  white  bark  from  the  fagots  of 
birch  and  twisted  it  into  a  torch  such  as  the 
salmon-spearers  use. 

She  was  soon  back  at  his  side,  breathing 
quickly.  She  placed  a  heavy  revolver  in  his 
hand  and  possessed  herself  of  the  torch  of  bark. 

"Come  now,  monsieur,"  she  whispered.  "I 
light  the  bark  and  throw  it  into  the  cabin,  and 
then  you  see  everything— and  if  you  see  Steve 
Canadian  you  shoot  quick." 

"Give  me  the  torch,"  he  replied.  "I'll  do  it 
all,  Marie." 

"No,  he  might  shoot  quick,"  she  said,  turn- 
ing to  run  toward  the  cabin. 

He  caught  her  with  his  left  hand  by  the 
back  of  her  fur  coat.  She  struggled  to  escape 
him,  holding  the  unlighted  roll  of  bark  at  arm's 
length  in  front  of  her. 

He  laid  the  revolver  on  the  top  of  the  wood, 
and  with  both  arms  free  caught  her  more 
securely  and  drew  her  to  him. 

"If  he  shoots  quick,"  he  said,  unsteadily,  "he's 
certainly  not  going  to  shoot  you,  Marie.    Give 


■  ( j 


%n 


120      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 


me  the  torch.  I  can  light  it  and  throw  it  in 
as  well  as  you  can.  Come,  be  reasonable.  Be 
a  good  girl." 

To  draw  her  right  arm  inward  and  obtain  the 
torch  he  was  forced  to  hold  her  strong,  slender 
body  close.  He  rejoiced  in  the  necessity  and  at 
the  same  moment  condemned  the  action. 

He  wrenched  the  bark  from  her  hand.  The 
blood  sang  in  his  veins  and  he  laughed  softly. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  this  was  all  in  keeping, 
in  harmony,  with  the  snow  and  th'3  starlight, 
the  vasts  of  black  forests,  the  ^ough,  open, 
venturesome  life. 

This  woman  who  struggled  in  his  grasp, 
anxious  to  face  danger  for  him,  was  the  spirit 
of  the  northern  wilderness.  The  world  and 
Pierre  MacKim  were  alike  forgotten. 

Marie  struggled — and  then,  suddenly,  she 
ceased  to  struggle.  She  lay  resting  in  his  arms, 
breathing  deep  and  quick,  her  body  trembling 
a  little,  her  face  upturned  to  his,  white  in  its 
frame  of  soft  fur,  her  dark  eyes  luminous. 

And  at  that  Westley's  brain  cleared  and  his 
heart  stood  still.  He  crushed  her  close,  held 
her  so  for  a  moment — and  then  his  arms  re- 
laxed and  fell  to  his  sides. 

"Come,"  he  said,  "this  won't  do.  Keep  back, 
Marie.  I  will  light  the  torch  and  throw  it  into 
the  cabin ;  but  very  likely  he  has  gone  by  now." 


■^^at^  Mm^ 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN      121 


The  girl*8  only  reply  was  a  low  sob.  Westley 
took  the  revolver  and  moved  cautiously  toward 
the  door,  keeping  well  out  of  line  of  it,  though 
his  mind  was  busy  with  other  things  than  the 
man  who  might  even  now  be  crouching  in  his 
own  house  waiting  to  shoot  him. 

He  crept  to  the  edge  of  the  black  doorway, 
removed  his  coat,  and  using  it  for  a  screen, 
struck  a  match  and  lit  the  roll  of  bark.  The 
yellow  flame  ran  up  swiftly  with  a  plume  of 
black  smoke. 

Westley  dropped  his  coat,  leaned  forward 
and  threw  the  torch  into  the  cabin.  It  fell  on 
the  floor  in  the  middle  of  the  single  room  and 
burned  strongly  and  steadily.  Westley,  re- 
volver in  hand,  peeped  cautiously  around  the 
edge  of  the  door-frame. 

Every  comer  of  the  room  was  illuminated  by 
the  torch.    The  cabin  was  empty. 

Westley  laughed  cheerlessly,  got  to  his  feet 
and  turned  to  retrace  his  steps  to  Marie.  But 
Marie  had  gone. 

Westley  stood  for  a  long  time  in  his  un- 
lighted  home,  with  his  foot  on  the  blackened 
head  of  the  torch,  suffering  keenly,  dully  con- 
scious of  an  inner  struggle. 

He  had  worked  hard  that  day.  He  ached 
now,  body  and  soul.  At  last  he  fumbled  about, 
found  the  lamp  and  lit  it.    He  laid  Dominic's 


^^  1 


'i* 


122      TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 

revolver  on  the  table  and  closed  the  door.  Then 
he  began  to  hunt  around  the  cabin  to  learn  the 
extent  of  the  robbery. 

His  rifles  and  guns  were  in  their  places.  His 
papers  were  undisturbed,  and  his  silver  cig- 
arette-case lay  in  open  sight  on  a  corner  of 
the  table,  just  as  he  had  left  it  that  morning. 
His  provisions,  clothing,  and  blankets  were  all 
intact 

He  lifted  the  narrow  mattress  in  the  bunk, 
disclosing  a  wooden  trap  like  the  cover  of  a 
cabin-locker  aboard  ship.  He  saw  in  a  mo- 
ment that  the  fastening  of  this  locker  had  been 
forced.  He  lifted  the  trap  and  found  the  bot- 
tles and  cases  of  liquor  in  disorder. 

This  was  his  hiding-place  for  the  factor's 
wines  and  spirits.  He  brought  the  lamp  to  the 
bunk  and  soon  found  that  five  bottles  of  whisky 
and  two  of  brandy  had  been  taken.  He  was 
angry  and  puzzled. 

The  offender  was  Steve  Canadian,  of  course; 
but  why  had  he  confined  his  attention  to  the 
spirits!  Surely  there  were  other  things  in  the 
cabin  more  worth  while— more  worth  while 
even  to  a  drunken  Indian?  There  was  money 
in  one  of  the  boxes,  for  instance,  and  hundreds 
of  dollars'  worth  of  portable  goods  of  one  kind 
and  another. 

"I'll  certainly  give  m:  time  and  attention 
io  Master  3t«ve  fii-st  thing  in  the  morning," 


^■■iM ., 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN      128 


he  said.    "I'll  make  this  country  so  hot  for 
him  that  he'll  get  out  and  stay  out." 

He  then  produced  a  hammer,  screws  and  a 
screw-driver  and  repaired  his  broken  door.  He 
smoked  in  front  of  the  stove  and  read  for  an 
hour  or  so.  But  iiis  eyes  were  heavy  with  de- 
sire for  sleep  and  his  brain  was  full  of  a  sharp, 
discomfiting  unrest. 

He  felt  excitement,  too,  excitement  that  was 
not  entirely  unpleasant.  He  tried  to  keep  Marie 
Benoit  out  of  his  thoughts;  but  was  unsuccess- 
ful in  this. 

He  remembered  Pierre  MacKim  and  cursed 
himself.  He  went  to  bed  and  slept  like  a  log. 
Toward  morning  he  dreamed.  In  one  of  these 
fragmentary  dreams  he  met  Marie  Benoit  in 
the  woods  behind  the  clearing  of  the  post,  at 
a  time  of  unreal  twilight  which  was  neither  of 
dawn  nor  sunset 

She  lifted  her  face  to  his — and  it  was  the 
face  of  Dorothy  Gordon.  This  wisp  of  night 
vision  haunted  him  vaguely  when  he  first  awoke ; 
but  it  faded  quickly  from  his  mind  in  the  morn- 
ing sunshine. 

Westley  breakfasted,  then  left  the  cabin  and 
walked  over  to  the  factor's  house.  He  looked 
across  the  trampled  snow  to  Dominic  Benoit's 
cabin  and  noted,  with  a  pang  that  he  did  not 
attempt  to  analyze,  the  closed  door  and  quiet 
windows   and   the   smoke   rising   straight   up 


^!'    1 


"m 


1 ' 


h:. 


124      TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 


i". 


from  the  little  chimney  of  gray  stone.  The 
Indian  lad,  Gabe,  opened  the  door  of  the  fac- 
tor's house  to  him. 

"Mr.  Grant,  him  sick,"  said  Gabe.  "Him 
stay  in  bed  to-day." 

"Sick?"  queried  Westley.  "What  is  the  mat- 
ter!" 

"I  dunno,"  replied  Gabe,  avoiding  the  other's 
eye.    "Him  sick  abed." 

"I'll  go  to  his  room  and  see  what  I  can  do 
for  him,"  said  David.  He  stepped  into  the 
hall;  but  the  lad  blocked  his  -path.  He  brushed 
the  servant  aside  with  a  sweep  of  his  arm  and 
ran  up  the  narrow  stairs. 

Gabe  turned  and  for  a  moment  seemed  to 
contemplate  following  the  visitor.  His  dull, 
brown  eyes  flashed,  then  dulled  again.  He 
grunted,  closed  the  door,  and  returned  to  his 
business  in  the  back  of  the  house. 

Westley  found  the  factor's  bedroom — and  the 
factor  asleep  across  the  bed,  fully  dressed.  Only 
his  collar  had  been  unfastened  and  his  moc- 
casins unlaced  and  pulled  off.  A  blanket  was 
spread  untidily  over  him.  He  snored  harshly, 
lying  flat  on  his  back. 

"Drunk,"  said  Westley;  and  turned  and 
went  quietly  downstairs. 

He  entered  the  big  living-room  where  Grant 
had  written  that  fine  story  and  others  perhaps 


m 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN      125 


as  fine.  There  was  no  fire  in  the  stove,  and  the 
dogs  were  not  in  the  room.  The  close  air  was 
rancid  with  the  dead  smoke  of  cigars  and  the 
reek  of  whisky. 

Books  and  papers  cluttered  the  table,  cigar- 
butts  lay  on  the  floor,  a  glass  and  an  empty 
bottle  stood  ^side  the  discarded  pen  and  half- 
written  page.  Another  whisky  bottle,  with  the 
lead  seal  unbroken,  lay  on  the  bearskin  beneath 
the  table.  Westley  examined  both  bottles.  Then 
he  left  the  room  and  went  upstairs  again. 

"I  am  not  the  only  one,"  he  reflected.  "It 
takes  all  kinds  of  fools  to  make  a  world." 

He  found  a  bucket  of  cold  water — so  cold 
that  little  splinters  of  ice  tinkled  together  when 
he  lifted  it— in  the  factor's  dressing-room. 

He  carried  this  into  the  bedroom,  where  the 
weakling  officer  of  the  great  company  still 
snored  in  the  deep  stupor  of  intoxication.  He 
set  the  bucket  down,  then  spread  a  blanket  on 
the  floor  beside  the  bed.  He  lifted  Grant  and 
laid  him  on  the  blanket. 

"You  I"  he  exclaimed.  "You  dirty  sneak-thief. 
You  drunken  swine.  Are  you  the  man  who 
wrote  that  story  about  the  forester  and  the 
baron  t  Well,  you  put  your  case  in  the  hands 
of  David  Westley;  and  you'll  be  glad  that  you 
did,  some  day." 

He  lifted  the  bucket  and  poured  about  a  quart 


il. 


91 


I  i   ^       m     'i'TX'-,«^A  lML-1 


vj-  l.iiL 


i: 


J-      « 
i 


*m. 


126      TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 

of  the  water,  ice  and  all,  upon  the  upturned 
face.  The  snoring  ceased.  The  closed  eyes 
opened.    The  factor  licked  his  lips. 

"That's  good,"  he  said,  huskily.  "Gimme  a 
drink  of  it — a  big  drink." 

Westley  knelt,  raised  Grant's  head  and  held 
the  heavy  bucket  to  his  lips. 

The  sufferer  drank  eagerly,  then  fell  back 
and  closed  his  eyes  again.  Westley  had  no  in- 
tention of  desisting  from  his  ministrations  at 
this  point,  however. 

He  poured  the  remainder  of  the  chilly  fluid — 
about  five  quarts  of  it — full  in  the  bearded  face. 
Grant  spluttered,  gasped,  turned  over,  and 
hoisted  himf^if  to  his  hands  and  knees. 

"What  the  \iucet"  he  exclaimed.  "What  are 
you  doing?" 

"Now  get  into  bed,  if  you  can,  and  sleep  it 
off,"  said  Westley.  "I  came  here  to  tell  you 
that  Steve  Canadian  had  broken  into  my  cabin 
and  stolen  some  whisky;  but  I  find  that  you 
are  the  thief.  Get  into  bed  and  think  it  over. 
You  were  dead  right  when  you  called  yourself 
a  weakling." 

He  left  the  room  without  waiting  for  a  reply 
from  the  poor  devil  on  the  floor.  He  found  the 
brandy  and  remaining  bottles  of  whisky  and 
smashed  them  on  the  stove  in  the  living-room, 
letting  the  shattered  glass  lie  there  for  a  sign 
and  a  warning. 


CHAPTER  IX 


I 


ANOTHEB  LETTEB  AND  ITS  FATE 

Dorothy  Gordon  played  a  difficult  game 
bravely  and  well.  To  all  her  world  she  main- 
tained a  bright  and  undismayed  face — to  the 
kindly,  wondering  men,  the  watchful  women; 
to  the  low-voiced,  inquisitive  servants  in  her 
father's  house;  to  her  anxious  father,  and  to 
Captain  Joice. 

Outwardly  she  continued  to  live  the  familiar 
busy,  meaningless  life.  She  saw  Walter  Joioe 
only  once  a  week;  and  their  relations  were 
friendly  but  less  cheerful  than  of  old.  She 
knew  that  her  father  had  become  very  fond  of 
the  Englishman,  and  that  the  two  spent  much 
of  their  time  together;  but  she  asked  no  ques- 
tions. 

She  understood  what  was  in  her  father's  heart 
and  mind.  Women  asked  her  about  David  West- 
ley,  watching  her  furtively  as  they  questioned 
and  awaited  the  answer,  keen  to  scent  trouble, 
keen  to  get  away  in  full  cry  and  run  it  to  earth 
or  take  a  notable  brush  in  the  open. 

"David  is  in  the  North,  shooting,"  she  would 

187 


! 

■f" 

ml 


!  «, 


128      TWO    SHALL   BE    BORN 

reply,  smiling  at  the  questioner  with  untrem- 
bling  lips  and  clear  eyes.  "That  sort  of  life 
has  become  a  passion  with  him." 
"When  do  you  expect  him  backt" 
"Not  before  late  in  the  spring;  aiiu  then  he 
means  to  go  direct  from  Montreal  to  England, 
where  he  will  meet  Aunt  Mary  and  me."  (She 
lied  delightfully,  showing  nothing  of  the  knife 
in  her  heart.) 

"He  is  anxious  to  shoot  a  musk-ox,  you  know; 
and  that  will  take  him  away  up  across  the 
Arctic  Circle." 

Dorothy  knew  that  Joice  had  written  to 
David.  She  had  asked  him,  pointblank;  and 
he  had  told  the  truth.  She  had  been  angry 
for  a  moment,  then  thankful. 

Day  after  day  she  awaited  word  from  David. 
Day  after  day  dragged  miserably  into  the  past 
and  no  word  came.  Joice  received  no  reply  to 
his  letter.    This  she  knew  without  asking. 

But  David  would  write  to  her,  and  beg  her 
forgiveness,  soon— as  soon  as  the  blind  bitter- 
ness of  his  anger  and  foolish  pride  had  cleared 
away.  He  loved  her.  They  had  loved  one 
another  for  years. 

And  after  he  had  written  then  she  would  ask 
his  pardon  and  admit  having  been  partly  to 
blame.  And  so  she  waited;  and  December 
came,  and  Christmas— and  still  no  word  from 
David,  far  away  in  the  northern  woods.    She 


% 


if  M 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN      129 

knew  that  he  was  still  in  the  north  of  this 
continent,  for  Captain  Joice  had  told  her  so. 
He  had  made  sure  of  that  much  by  questioning 
James  Hush. 

Christmas  passed  and  the  New  Year  came; 
and  Dorothy's  pride  broke  at  last.  She  forgot 
the  violent  and  humiliating  words  and  inci- 
dents of  the  parting  scene  with  David.  She 
remembered  only  the  parting,  and  that  he  had 
gone  from  her  in  anger  and  pain. 

On  the  night  of  New  Year's  Day  she  dined 
alone  with  her  father.  After  dinner  she  went 
straight  to  her  uwn  room,  locked  «^--  door  and 
wrote  to  David.  She  wrote  wha.  vv!i;  in  her 
heart,  her  pride  broken  by  fear  and  luuelmess. 
She  wrote  it  all— and  tears  fell  upon  the  paper 
and  smudged  the  ink. 

She  opened  her  aching  heart  to  him.  They 
had  both  been  in  the  wrong,  she  said;  they 
had  both  acted  foolishly;  but  what  did  it  mat- 
ter so  long  as  they  loved  each  other! 

She  told  him  of  the  days  and  nights  of  weary 
waiting.  She  told  him  of  her  fear  that  some 
hurt  would  come  to  him  away  off  there  in  the 
desolate,  menacing  wilderness.  She  had 
dreamed  of  seeing  him  in  moments  of  peril,  m 
the  shade  of  great  trees  and  in  the  white  waters 
of  bellowing  rapids. 

She  reread  what  she  had  written,  then  tore 
the  pages  to  fragments  and  wrote  again  more 


111 


1- 


li 


1  '.' 


r^ 


I 


I 


1l 


I  i 


130      TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 

briefly  and  with  more  restraint.  But  even  now 
she  made  no  disguise  of  words  to  hide  her 
aching  heart  from  him. 

She  sealed  this  letter  and  inscribed  the  square, 
dull-white  envelope  with  David's  name.  That 
was  all,  for  she  knew  that  it  would  have  to  be 
forwarded  by  David's  man. 

She  spent  a  sleepless  night;  and  next  day 
telephoned  to  Walter  Joice.  He  called  early 
in  the  afternoon.  She  gave  him  the  letter  to 
take  to  James  Hush.  He  held  the  envelope 
in  his  hand  for  a  little  while  before  putting  it  in 
his  pocket,  staring  at  it  with  a  face  as  red  as  fire. 

"I  wrote  to  him,"  he  blurted.  "There  has 
been  plenty  of  time  in  which  to  receive  an 
answer.  I  have  not  heard  from  him.  May  I 
ask — if  you  have  heard?" 

Dorothy's  eyes  filled  with  tears  and  she 
turned  her  small,  perfect  face  away  from  him. 

"Would  you  believe  me — if  I  said  that  I  had 
heard  from  him?"  she  asked. 

"I  should  believe  you,"  he  said,  unsteadily. 
"Of  course — in  anything.  Have  you  heard 
from  him,  Dorothy?    I  claim  a  right — to  ask." 

"I  have  not  heard,"  she  answered,  without 
looking  at  him.  "I  am  afraid — that  something 
may  have  happened  to  him.  So  I  have  writ- 
ten." 

"I  will  give  the  letter  to  his  man,"  said  Joice, 
quietly. 


TWO    SHALL   BE    BORN      131 

He  left  the  house  and  walked  down-town. 
He  took  the  letter  from  his  pocket,  looked  at 
it,  and  thrust  it  back  again. 

"Hang  the  fellow,"  he  said.  His  face  was 
white,  now.  "But  for  her  I'd  go  north  and  find 
him,  if  it  took  me  a  year— and  knock  some 
decency  into  him  if  it  killed  him— or  me.  But 
there'll  be  talk  enough,  very  soon,  as  it  is; 
and  I  have  no  right  to  take  things  into  my 
own  hands." 

Again  he  produced  the  letter  and  gazed  at 
the  monogram  in  thin  gold  on  the  flap  of  the 
envelope,  and  the  little  seal  of  violet  wax.  He 
noticed  that  the  seal  was  thin  and  badly  placed. 
For  the  purposes  of  a  seal  it  was  not  effective. 
He  went  to  his  club  and  applied  a  big  dab  of 
red  wax  to  the  envelope  and  stamped  it  se- 
curely with  his  own  ring. 

Then  he  took  the  letter  around  to  James  Hush. 

Up  and  back  at  Two  Moose  House  in  the 
Smoky  River  country  things  moved  briskly 
along,  and  life  for  David  Westley  was  a  rough, 
alert,  stamping  reality.  The  business  of  cutting 
timber  went  forward  without  any  serious  hitches. 

More  men  came  in,  and  a  second  camp  was 
built,  three  miles  farther  up  river  than  the  first. 
Archie  Stewart,  the  big  Nova  Scotian,  was 
made  boss  of  the  old  camp,  and  a  man  from  St. 
Anne's  was  put  in  charge  of  the  new.   Mr.  Duff 


kl 


'■i 


m'tmt9\mSk: 


II 


132      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

maintained  a  general  supervision  of  both  camps, 
kept  the  books  and  wrote  most  of  Westley's 
business  letters. 

Business  letters  were  now  "Westley's  only 
correspondence,  for  he  had  cut  himself  off  en- 
tirely from  the  old  life.  He  saw  and  talked 
frequently  with  Marie  Benoit  now.  He  could 
not  ignore  her  now,  since  that  night  when  she 
had  tried  to  risk  her  life  for  hun  at  the  open 
door  of  the  unlighted  cabin ;  but  he  kept  himself 
well  in  hand. 

The  girl  was  more  reserved  with  him  than 
she  had  been  at  first.  David  had  returned  the 
revolver  to  Dominic  on  the  day  after  that  inci- 
dent—on the  day  th;.t  he  had  found  the  factor 
drunk  with  his  own  stolen  liquor. 

Grant  had  come  to  David's  cabin  late  that 
same  night,  shaken  and  desperately  humble,  and 
had  confessed  to  his  weak  and  dishonorable 
deed.  Yes,  he  had  thought  that  Steve  Canadian 
would  be  charged  with  the  robbery. 

David  had  reasoned  with  him,  argued  with 
him,  sworn  at  him.  The  factor  had  walked 
straight  since  then ;  but  in  what  agony  of  body, 
mind,  and  spirit  David  could  only  guess. 

Steve  Canadian  had  appeared  at  the  post  ir- 
regularly, sometimes  once  and  sometimes  twice 
a  week.  He  came  from  the  woods  and  he  re- 
turned to  the  woods;  and  though  Westley  and 


«*3«»»'-v*r^«  T«K;?M5.:f! 


.MM  ^ 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN       133 

Duff  wondered,  neither  took  the  trouble  to  set 
himself  to  the  task  of  discovering  the  Indian's 
hiding-place. 

The  fellow  came  and  went  without  raising  any 
serious  disturbance.  He  kept  out  of  West- 
ley's  way  and  sv-emed  to  have  lost  interest  in 
Marie  Benoit  and  Pierre  MacKim.  He  con- 
fined his  visits  to  the  factor's  house  and  the 

store. 

On  the  night  of  the  Sunday  before  Christ- 
mas he  managed  to  offend  one  of  Westley's 
choppers  in  some  way,  on  the  plank  platform 
in  front  of  the  store.  Both  men  had  been 
drinking  heavily  all  day. 

The  fight  was  brief  and  feeble.  The  only 
injuries  received  were  the  result  of  falling 
down  on  the  icy  platform.  The  onlookers  had 
taken  it  as  a  good  joke,  and  Steve  had  gone  back 
to  his  retreat  with  a  bump  on  the  back  of  his 
head  and  a  very  vague  idea  as  to  how  he  came 

by  it 

Christmas  itself  was  a  roaring  day  in  and 
8^  ;  the  post.  Only  the  cooks  at  the  camps 
J  J  je  storekeeper  at  the  post  were  on  duty, 
predicted  trouble  before  night.  Archie 
fcjcewart  and  the  boss  of  Number  Two  camp 
agreed  with  him. 

Westley  spent  the  morning  with  Grant,  in 
the  sitting-room  of  the  big  house,  with  an  eye 


n 


.-,,1 


i  .1 
?■-<■ 


^\' 


<1 


■  jmt'rm'M^m^'WfM:' 


^^mniM'i' 


184      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 


•I 


f 


on  the  window.  Duff,  who  knew  that  the  com- 
pany's store  would  be  a  storm-center,  vol- 
unteered to  take  on  his  old  job  for  the  day. 

It  was  a  fine  day,  windless,  sunlit,  with  the 
mercury  about  twelve  below  zero.  The  post 
wore  something  of  the  aspect  of  a  country  fair 
transplanted  to  a  bizarre  setting. 

The  men  from  the  camps,  between  fifty  and 
sixty  in  number,  filled  the  store  to  overflowing, 
crowded  the  platform,  stood  in  clusters  on 
the  trampled  snow,  and  sent  bottles  of  divers 
shapes  circulating  from  hand  to  hand. 

They  sang,  they  whistled,  they  smoked,  and 
evfry  now  and  then  one  or  two  flipped  their 
fett  in  the  opening  steps  of  a  backwoods  dance. 
They  made  a  picturesque  scene.  Shortly  be- 
fore noon  they  started  back  for  their  camps  to 
eat  their  Christmas  dinners.  Their  foremen 
went  with  them,  herding  them  along  the  snowy 
tracks  like  sheep. 

For  a  couple  of  hours  the  post  was  quiet. 
Duff  came  over  to  the  big  house  and  lunched 
with  the  factor  and  Westley.  Grant  was  in 
good  spirits  and  talked  cheenly. 

"You  seem  to  be  in  fine  feather,"  said  Duff. 
"Who  has  left  you  a  fortune?" 

"Nobody  that  I  know  of,"  replied  the  factor ; 
"but  the  moment  I  woke  up  this  morning  I 
felt  that  something  good  was  in  line  for  me." 

"I  wish  I  felt  the  same  way,"  said   Duff; 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN      185 

"but  I  have  a  hunch  that  there  is  trouble  ahead 
of  me.  I'll  know  all  a' out  it  before  long. 
Though  T  have  refused  to  sell  any  liquor  since 
eleven  o'clock  this  morning,  the  boys  seem  to 
have  an  inexhaustible  supply  on  hand." 

The  lumbermen  returned  to  the  post  at  the 
double.  A  few  of  them  could  not  double,  and 
fell  by  the  way ;  but  they  arrived  later,  in  open 
order. 

I  iddles  were  called  for.  Two  were  produced, 
whereupon  half  a  dozen  eager  fellows  set  about 
the  tuning  of  each  instrument.  Strings  snapped. 
The  men  who  held  the  bows  could  not  agree  with 
the  lads  who  had  gained  possession  of  the 
resin. 

One  lump  of  resin  was  applied  to  a  human 
face  instead  of  to  the  horse-hairs.  Duff  and 
David  ran  to  the  scene  of  activity  and  pried 
the  would-be  musicians  apart.  The  fiddles  were 
beyond  help,  and  only  the  lumps  of  resin  re- 
mained intact.  The  company  looked  crest- 
fallen. 

"Cheer  up,  men,"  said  Westley.  "I'll  find 
you  a  fiddler  and  a  fiddle;  but  you  must  give 
me  your  word,  'cross  your  hearts,  that  you'll 
not  knock  them  about." 

The  men  swore,  across  their  hearts,  that 
Westley's  fiddler  and  fiddle  would  be  as  safe 
with  them  as  though  they  were  in  a  church. 

"Then  I'll  see  what  I  c^^n  do  for  you,"  said 
Westley. 


I  >. 


m 


.1  ^i 


ill 

;  "t! 


186      TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 

The  men  cheered  him.  He  shouldered  his  T7af 
good-humoredly  out  of  the  press  in  front  of 
the  st'  ;  and  made  his  way  across  to  Domi- 
nic Benoit's  cabin. 

Marie  had  kept  her  father  close  indoors 
throughout  the  morning,  so  as  to  keep  him  out 
of  mischief.  When  David  rapped  on  the  door 
the  merry  fellow  was  tuning  his  fiddle.  Marie 
looked  through  a  window,  then  opened  the  door. 

"I  was  afraid,  monsieur,"  she  said,  with  down- 
cast eyes.  "All  day  I  have  kept  the  door 
fastened,  for  fear  of  the  men  from  the  lumber- 
camps,  and  to  keep  my  poor  father  from  going 
out  to  them.  My  father  is  very  easy  to  excite, 
monsieur.  He  would  quickly  have  his  coat  off 
and  be  into  a  fight." 

Westley  saw  instantly  that  it  would  be  un- 
fair to  the  girl,  as  well  as  to  the  man  himself, 
to  ask  Dominic  to  bring  his  fiddle  and  play 
for  the  lumber-jacks. 

"It  would  be  useless  for  us  to  try  to  keep  the 
men  quiet  to-day,"  he  said. 

"Duff  and  I  are  humoring  them  a  bit;  and 
we  hope  to  see  them  through  the  day  without 
any  trouble.  But  I  think  it  is  very  wise  of 
you  to  keep  the  door  fastened,  Marie,  and  your 
father  safe  inside.  I  have  come  over  to  borrow 
your  father's  fiddle. 

"Dominic,  will  you  lend  me  your  fiddle  for  a 
few  hours?    The  boys  want  to  dance.    If  they 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN      187 

break  it  I'll  buy  you  a  new  one— and  a  better 


»» 


one.  . ,    T.r    . 

He  stepped  inside  the  cabin  with  Mane. 

"You  want  my  fiddle,  monsieur?"  said  Domi- 
nic. "You  better  take  me,  too,  for  to  play  the 
fiddle.  I  play  the  fiddle  good.  You  listen; 
and  then  you  take  me  for  to  play  the  dances 

to  the  boys." 

"You  are  better  off  where  you  are,  here  witn 

Marie,"  replied  David.     "You  don't  want  to 

get  mixed  up  with  all  those  toughs  of  mine, 

Dominic.    You  are  a  Frenchman,  and  it  would 

not  be  dignified  for  a  pure-blooded  Frenchman 

to  play  the  fiddle  for  that  bunch  of  choppers." 

Dominic  nodded  his  head,  and  handed  over 

the  fiddle.    Westley  thanked  him,  and  turned 

toward  the  door.    Marie  put  her  hand  on  the 

wooden  latch.    She  looked  up,  shyly,  into  his 

face.    Her  cheeks  were  flushed,  and  her  eyes 

bright  and  tender. 

"That  was  good,  monsieur,"  she  whispered. 
"You  are  very  kind— and  that  was  a  smart 
thing.  I  thank  you  with  my  heart,  monsieur. 
Now  my  poor  father  sit  quiet  all  day,  and  think 
about  his  fine,  pure  blood.  Yes,  you  touch  him 
on  the  right  spot— on  his  pride— wonsiewr." 

David  smiled  into  her  eyes.    She  opened  the 
door  slowly,  as  if  reluctantly. 
"Monsieur  is  still  angry  with  me,"  she  whis- 


pered.   "I  am  sorry 


>» 


^11 


^^rrsissfe^E'W^^ 


188      TWO    SHALL   BE    BORN 


"No,"  said  David,  and  then  both  looked  up 
and  saw  a  crowd  of  the  lumbermen  standing  in 
front  of  the  cabin,  one  leaning  upon  another, 
some  staggering,  all  grinning  broadly. 

"Ha!"  exclaimed  a  half-breed.  "Dat  pretty 
girl  I  ever  see — dat  girl  of  yours.  Bring  her 
out  an'  we  all  dance  with  dat  girl  of  yours. 
Yes,  dat  all  right  an'  fair." 

A  shout  of  agreement  arose  from  the  crowd. 
Marie  plucked  at  David's  sleeve.  "Come  in, 
monsieur,"  she  whispered. 

"You  go  in  and  fasten  the  door,"  said  David, 
quietly. 

He  stepped  down  and  walked  boldly  up  to 
the  front  rank  of  the  crowd.  He  held  the 
fiddle  under  his  left  arm.  He  halted  within 
a  yard  of  the  leaders.  His  eyes  were  as  cold 
in  sheen  and  color  as  ice. 

"Men,"  he  said,  "I  am  boss  here.  I  never 
allow  anybody  to  talk  to  me  as  you  have  just 
done.  If  I  hear  another  word  of  it  there'll  be 
trouble,  quick.  I  mean  it.  Look  at  me  and 
see.  The  biggest  and  best  man  among  you 
would  be  no  match  for  me,  even  if  he  happened 
to  be  sober." 

"That's  right,  sir,"  said  a  white  man.  "We 
ain't  lookin'  for  trouble." 

Westley's  manner,  even  more  than  his  words, 
bad  done  the  trick. 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN      189 

A  sober  man  with  some  skill  as  a  fiddler  was 
found,  and  the  dance  commenced.  Westley 
moved  about  among  the  spectators,  and  once 
or  twice  even  mingled  with  the  dancers.  Several 
brawls  started  up,  only  to  sink  as  suddenly  at 
his  approach. 

And  so  Christmas  passed  without  accident, 
thanks  to  David  Westley. 

One  afternoon  in  January,  David  sat  by  the 
little  stove  in  his  cabin  in  a  bitter  mood.  Snow 
was  falling  outside  in  slow,  flat  flakes.  The 
wilderness  was  as  colorless  as  the  man's 
thoughts.  He  had  been  cheerful,  busy,  and 
thoughtless  for  many  days,  and  now  the  re- 
action was  upon  him. 

Since  early  morning  he  had  sat  by  the  stove, 
brooding  over  the  days  of  his  past. 

The  door  opened  and  Pierre  MacKim  entered 
the  cabin,  with  snow  clinging  to  his  shoulders 
and  fur  cap.  He  swept  the  cap  from  his  head, 
and  the  snow  fell,  hissing  upon  the  stove.  His 
thin  face  was  moist  and  aglow.  He  threw  off 
his  huge  gloves  and  laughed. 

"Snow  pretty  thick  to-day,"  he  said,  "but 
I  don't  make  camp.  I  come  right  through.  The 
factor,  he  get  one  letter  that  he  say  mighty  fine, 
and  I  guess  he  come  right  over  hero  to  tell  you 

about  it.  1.       A   J 

♦He  got  his  promotion  at  last,  maybe.    And 


U  il'H 


i\  il 


ii 


«1 


.•~F^'5Br«5':*^.i«E 


71S  1^. 


140      TWO    SHAIL   BE   BORN 

I  got  one  letter  for  you,  mister — one  good  letter, 
like  the  kind  you  look  for,  I  guess.  That's  why 
I  don't  make  camp  to-day,  but  come  right  along 
through." 

He  produced  a  square  envelope  from  his 
pocket,  and  thrust  it  into  Westley's  hand.  Westr 
ley  stared  at  the  inscription  with  chilling  eyes. 
He  saw  that  the  name  was  in  Dorothy  Gordon's 
hand,  and  the  address  in  that  of  tiie  faithful 
Hush. 

His  face  paled,  then  flushed  darkly.  He 
turned  the  envelope  over,  and  looked  at  the 
monogram  on  the  flap.  Then  the  two  seals 
caught  his  attention.  He  examined  them 
closely. 

"Very  suitable,"  he  said,  and  laughed  un- 
pleasantly. 

He  leaned  forward,  pulled  open  the  door  of 
the  stove,  and  dropped  the  letter  into  the  heart 
of  the  fire. 

"Fool!"  exclaimed  Pierre  MacKim. 

Westley  closed  the  door  of  the  stovo,  and 
turned  slowly  in  his  chair.  He  started  slightly 
when  he  caught  the  look  of  anger  and  disgust 
on  the  mail-runner's  swarthy  face.  Then  he 
smiled. 

"Sit  down,  Pierre,"  he  said.  "You've  had  a 
hard  trip.    Rest  a  while." 

"I  bring  you  the  letter,"  returned  Pierre,  in 
a  voice  that  shook,  "an'  you  chuck  it  into  tiie 


?ll 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN      141 

Btove.  That  letter  from  your  girl.  I  know.  You 
wait  for  that  letter— an»  then  you  bum  it.  You 
too  big  a  fool,  an'  too  ugly  in  your  temper,  to 
open  it  an'  read  it.  No,  Pierre  MacKim  don  t 
want  anything  of  you  I" 
Weetley  jumped  up  with  an  oath. 


I 


m 

:"l| 


^  I  «>: 


CITAPT^'.R  X 


'  li 


WHO   KN   lEl)  PIERRE? 


Pierre  MacKini  'lirl  not  tlinch.  His  thin  face 
paled;  but  he  stoo*i  '.I ,  •■  ••nrid,  1  's  hands  at  his 
sides,  his  dark  eyev  unwavering. 

For  what  seemed  n  loug  .unute  to  both  of 
them,  the  two  men  faced  each  other  in  a  quiver- 
ing silence.  West]<;y's  face  was  dark  and  drawn 
with  anger,  and  his  right  ha.  J  wais  clenched 
and  swung  back.  Pierre  was  the  first  to  break 
the  formidable  quiet. 

"Yes,  you  hit  me  if  you  want  to,"  h(  aid, 
faintly.  "You  lot  bigger  than  nu  an'  stronger, 
too;  but  I  mean  what  I  say.  I  tL  nk  you  one 
almighty  fool  to  burn  that  letter.  I  thii^k  you 
got  a  sore  liead,  like  Steve  Canadian,  when 
he  drink  too  iuuch.  I  think  you  <  lon't  know  what 
you  J  >,  David  Westley." 

"Don't  venture  too  far,"  said  Westley,  in  a 
stifled  voice.  "I'll  not  stand  for  much  more  of 
your  cursed  cheek." 

"You  got  a  devilioli  bad  temper,  I  know,"  re- 
turned Pierre.  "Yes,  but  T  f-an  get  mad,  too; 
an'  now  you  make  nie  mad  as  I  can  be. 

"I  think  of  that  girl  who  writes  t-    you,  an' 

1*2 


TWO    SIIALI     BE    BOHN       143 

how  you  chuck  the  letter  into  the  fire,  an'  I  get 
80  raad  I  d'  ii't  care  what  you  do  to  me,  David 
Westley.  ^  tell  you  what  T  think— I  think  you 
treat  that  girl  like    i  8l<  mic" 

And  still  Westl'v  di'l  not  strike. 

"Pierre,  you  are  a  fool,  hut  you  are  :  braver 
man  than  I  thought,"  he  sai.i.  "Your  ...Ik  ha^ 
no  sense,  excent  why*  vou  ^a>  abou'  m^'  temper; 
but  I  admire  :  our  <  ui..  age.  -f  >^ur  >ye  flickered 
onc«  .  Pierre — it  you  ssiiowf 
of  lear— I'd  kn  ck  yoi   ini 

"Yes,  and  y  u  kno\\   ^' 
my  fif^t  vlif-e    *  is — •  le  k. 
know  T  coula  b*  at  yt  u    nth 
heart       big;  >^    you       rain 
a  buttfe  Tiut.'' 

"T  see  whai  I  -ee 
"You  tell  ue  nothi 
misery  ii    vour  ey 
pride  ^et    j  wor 


mi 
•r 


^   js  a  hint 

the  f  oor. 

lat     olds 

tht      you 

c  iiand.        our 

no  bigger  than 


plied  Pierre,  doggedly. 

;  but  I  guess.     I  see  the 

an'  then  I  see  the  dirty 

S'OU. 

"Ye^^.  you  i  link  you  trouble  all  the  girl's 
fault,  but  she  writp  to  you,  an'  you  let  the  dirty 
pT-ide  el  ick  the  etter  inio  the  fire.  You  don't 
want  to  b<  happ^  I  guess.  I  think  you  let  your 
teni.^if  fl.  at  that  girl— that's  what  I  think.  I 
watcl  vou  mighty  close,  an'  I  see  tbnt  you  are 
sti  ng  an'  ^    ak,  kind  an'  cruel." 

Yvestley  sji  d  ^n,  trembling  with  the  tax  of 
restraint  he  i  put  upon  his  temper.  His 
'•ram  was  clear  and  reasonable,  but  his  blood 


41 


ws^ 


W 


9 


144      TWO    SHALL    BE   BORN 

was  seething.    He  grasped  the  arms  of  his  chair 
with  his  big,  muscular,  finely  shaped  hands. 

"You  talk  of  something  you  know  nothing 
about,"  he  said.  "You  are  partly  right  about 
the  girl;  yes,  there  was  a  girl.  She  made  a 
fool  of  me,  Pierre. 

"That  letter  was  from  her;  but  why  should  I 
read  it.  What  has  been  done  is  done;  and  I 
should  be  doubly  a  fool  to  pay  any  attention 
to  anything  she  may  have  to  say.  Oh,  yes,  there 
is  another  man— and  his  seal  was  on  the  back 
of  that  letter. 

"He  franked  the  letter.  Whatever  was  inside 
it  he  agreed  to.  As  for  my  bad  temper,  Pierre, 
I  assure  you  that  if  it  gets  me  into  trouble  PU 
not  ask  you  to  help  me  out.  PU  look  after  my- 
self;  and  Pll  thank  you,  in  the  future,  to  leave 
my  temper  and  my  affairs  alone— in  short,  to 
mind  your  own  business." 

"No,"  said  Pierre.  "You  can't  scare  me.  You 
have  been  a  good  friend  to  me.  I  like  you.  You 
save  my  money,  an'  maybe  my  bones,  the  very 
first  time  you  see  me.  You  always  treat  me 
fine,  David  Westley.    But  you  don't  scare  me 

DOW. 

"I  don't  care  how  you  cuss  me — I  will  look  out 
'for  you.  I  feel  sorry  about  that  girl.  I  think 
a  lot  about  that  girl  when  I  travel  the  trail,  an' 
I  make  fine  pictures  of  her  in  my  head. 

"Queer,  that;  but  plenty  of  queer  things  creep 


TWO    SHALL   BE    BORN      145 

into  a  man's  brain  when  he  walk  all  day  alone  in 
the  woods.    Yes,  I  am  sorry  she  treat  you  bad. 
I  wonder  why  she  write  that  letter  to  you  if 
she  don't  like  you!    Well,  I  guess  maybe  you 
are  right— an'  I  am  a  fool,  like  you  say.    Any- 
how, if  ever  you  get  into  trouble,  an'  Pierre 
MacKim  not  too  far  away,  you  bet  he'll  jump 
in  an'  fight  for  you  like  one  mad  bobcat.    Yes, 
that's  the  truth." 
"I  believe  you,"  said  David. 
After   Pierre   MacKim   had   taken   his   de- 
parture, Westley  paced  the  floor  of  his  cabin  for 
half  an  hour,  his  chin  sunk  on  the  collar  of 
his  woollen  shirt,  his  strong  hands  twitching  be- 
hind his  back. 

Once  he  halted  at  the  stove,  opened  the  door 
and  looked  within.  The  giowing  coals  of  dry 
maple  and  birch  shone  hotly  up  agamst  his 
face.  Among  the  film-thin  flakes  of  gray  ashes 
was  a  curled  flake  of  black. 

He  closed  the  door  and  went  on  with  his  rest- 
less pacing  back  and  forth.  He  did  not  desist 
until  the  door  opened  and  Mr.  Duff  entered 
quite  unexpectedly. 

"The  portable  sawmill  we  sent  for  has  reached 
St.  Anne's,"  said  Duff.  "Jones  sent  a  man  in 
to  let  us  know.  What  do  you  mean  to  do  about 
it,  sir!  We  surely  need  it  bad,  to  saw  lumber 
for  the  big  mUl  and  the  other  shacks  you 
planned." 


Ill 


I 


140      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

David  unclasped  his  hands  from  the  small  of 
his  back,  squared  his  shoulders,  and  pushed 
a  chair  toward  his  assistant. 

"We  must  get  it  in,"  he  said.  "We  need  it, 
don't  we?  As  we  intend  to  manufacture  most 
of  our  own  cut,  we  must  have  the  big  mill  ready 
for  work  early  in  the  spring.  We'll  bring  the 
little  mill  in  on  runners." 

"The  distance  is  seventy  miles;  and  there 
has  been  more  snow  than  I  looked  for.  There 
is  no  road  between  here  and  St.  Anne's," 

"You  mean  the  horses  couldn't  make  it  on 
the  river?" 

"They'd  be  in  down  to  their .  bellies  every 
step,  sir.  Two  miles  of  it  would  strip  their 
legs  to  the  bone,  to  say  nothing  of  busting  their 
hearts.  I  must  admit,  sir,  I  made  a  bad  mis- 
calculation about  that  portable  mill. 

"They  were  slow  in  shipping  it  to  St.  Anne's ; 
and  I  didn't  expect  so  much  snow  on  the  river. 
I've  seen  it  clean  as  a  ball-room  floor  until  the 
middle  of  January." 

Westley  lit  a  cigarette  and  turned  his  ciiair 
toward  the  table. 

"Have  a  couple  of  whopping  big  toboggans 
built,"  he  said.  "See  about  that  immediately. 
Set  all  the  handy  men  at  the  job.  You  know 
the  size.  When  the  toboggans  are  ready  we'll 
load  them  with  grub  enough  to  last  about  forty 
men  for  the  round  trip.     If  we  can  haul  pork 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN      147 

and  flour  and  beans  in  by  hand  we  can  jolly 
well  haul  in  a  portable  sawmill." 

"But  we've  hauled  in  only  a  few  hundred- 
weight since  the  snow  got  deep,"  said  Duff. 
"The  teams  brought  in  the  bulk  of  our  stuff 
before  the  first  of  December— and  a  good  thing, 
too.  If  there  were  eighteen  inches  of  snow  on 
the  level  then  there  are  three  to  four  feet  of  it 

now." 

"We'll  do  it,  anyway,"  said  Westley,  glad  to 
find  a  tough  job  to  apply  himself  to. 

"If  we  can't  do  it  with  less  than  sixty  men, 
then  we'll  use  both  gangs,  down  to  the  last  man. 
Just  think  of  it,  Duff.  Think  of  sixty  men,  with 
snowshoes  on  their  feet,  marching  three  abreast 
down  the  middle  of  old  Smoky,  with  two  tobog- 
gans behind  them  freighted  with  enough  grub 
to  last  those  sixty   from  here  to  St.  Anne's  and 

back  again. 

"Wouldn't  that  hammer  down  a  road  firm 
and  smooth  enough  for  the  same  sixty  to  twitch 
Hhe  portable  sawmill  along!    I  think  so." 

"I  guess  you're  right,"  returned  Duff  after  a 
minute's  reflection.  "There'll  be  some  rough 
sledding  in  spots.  And  it  will  be  costly;  but  I 
guess  it  will  work  out  all  right  in  the  end.  Yes, 
we  need  the  mill.  I'll  just  figure  out  the  di- 
mensiorR  of  the  sleds  now." 

Wl:^  ~>uff  worked  out  the  details  of  the 
tobogtnir,  with  a  suggestion  now  and  then  from 


!ii 


148      TV70    SHALL   BE   BORN 


I 


Westley,  Mr.  Grant  came  to  the  cabin,  bare- 
headed, iic-cKed  with  snow,  carrying  an  open 
letter  in  his  hand.  His  mild  eyes  were  shining. 

"Westley,  this  chap  thinks  almost  as  much 
of  my  stor>  as  you  do,"  he  said.  "Read  what 
he  says,  man.  And  here's  a  contract  to  be 
signed." 

It  was  a  fact.  The  publisher  to  whom  Grant 
had  sent  his  novel  had  offered  to  print  and 
exploit  it  on  very  much  the  usual  terms.  West- 
ley  read  the  letter  and  the  contract  and  con- 
gratulated the  author  heartily.  Even  Duff  was 
greatly  impressed. 

"If  it  goes,"  said  Grant  excitedly,  "I  should 
be  out  of  here  in  a  year  or  so — out  of  the 
woods  and  back  to  the  world.  Think  of  that, 
man!    And  I  have  you  to  thank  for  it. 

"Bless  my  soul,  it  was  a  good  day  for  me 
when  you  blew  into  this  God-forsaken  country. 
Westley,  I'll  live  in  London— '  .  a  little  square 
I  know  of  not  very  far  from  a  green  park  I 
have  not  forgotten." 

"Every  man  to  his  taste,"  said  Duff.  "When 
are  you  going  to  notify  the  company  of  your 
plans?" 

"Not  now,  you  may  be  sure,"  replied  the  fac- 
tor, laughing.  "I'll  sit  tight  until  this  is  a  sure 
thing.  Now  I'm  going  home  to  commence  knock- 
ing one  of  my  other  yams  into  shape  for  publi- 
cation." 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN      149 

"I'd  like  to  know  what  ever  sent  Donald  Grant 
into  the  woods,"  said  Duff,  blinking  his  eyes 
at  Westley.  "Would  it  be  a  woman,  I  wonder; 
or  did  he  disgrace  himself  in  some  way  when 
he  was  in  the  army!'* 

"He  seems  on  the  square  to  me,"  replied  West- 
ley.    "Was  he  a  heavy  drinker  when  you  first 

knew  himi" 

"No,"  said  Duff.  "He  acquired  that  cheer- 
ful habit  right  here." 

Duff  went  back  to  Number  One  Camp  before 
supper-time.  The  fall  of  snow  had  ceased  and 
a  few  stars  glittered  high  overhead. 

Westley  filled  his  pipe  and  went  out  for  a 
breath  of  fresh  air.  He  passed  Dominic  Benoit's 
cabin.  Half-way  between  the  Frenchman's  habi- 
tation and  Pierre  MacKim's  cabin  he  stumbled 
over  something  in  the  path.  Recovering  him- 
self, he  turned  and  found  the  body  of  a  man 
lying  motionless  and  huddled  in  the  trail, 
lightly  covered  with  a  film  of  new-fallen  snow. 
The  body  lay  face  down. 

Westley  knelt  and  turned  it  over  tenderly, 
disclosing  the  thin  face  of  Pierre  MacKmi. 
The  eyes  were  closed  and  the  cheeks  were  very 
pale.  Westley  lifted  the  body  in  his  arms;  and 
on  the  soft  snow  where  it  had  lain  he  saw  a 
round,  dark  stain  as  large  as  his  two  hands  and 

deeply  pitted. 
He  retraced  his  steps  swiftly,  kicked  open 


m 


Ml 


150      TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 

the  door,  and  laid  the  senseless  form  of  the 
young  woodsman  on  the  rug  in  front  of  the 
stove.  He  closed  the  door,  lit  the  lamp  with 
shaking   fingers,   and  knelt  again   beside  the 

body. 
"Thank  Heaven,  I  didn't  hit  him  to-day,'*  he 

murmured. 

Pierre  breathed  faintly  and  his  heart  con- 
tinued to  beat,  though  weakly.  The  heavy 
clothing  was  sodden  with  blood  on  his  back,  one 
side  and  breast. 

Westley  unbuttoned  the  front  of  the  blanket 
"jumper,"  slit  it  down  the  back  with  a  knife, 
and  so  removed  it.  He  cut  away  the  heavy 
jersey  and  sodden  shirts;  and  on  the  smooth, 
lean,  muscular  back  he  found  the  wound.  For 
a  moment  he  stared  at  the  fearful  thing.  His 
eyes  narrowed,  his  jaws  set,  his  big  hands 
clenched  as  hard  as  stone. 

"This  won't  do,"  he  muttered.  "Righteous 
fury  won't  help  him  now.  About  the  base 
of  the  left  lung,  1  should  say.  Done  by  a 
butcher's  knife,  by  the  look  of  it.  I  think  it  is 
a  good  thing  that  it  bled  so  freely." 

He  stood  up  and  stared  around  the  room,  as 
if  looking  for  help  in  the  shadowy  corners.  He 
stepped  quickly  to  his  bunk  and  back  again 
with  a  blanket  which  he  spread  lightly  over 
Pierre 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN      151 

"No  doctor  within  seventy  miles  of  us,  I 
suppose,*'  he  said. 

He  set  a  kettle  of  water  on  the  stove  and 
threw  in  more  wood.  He  opened  a  bottle  of 
brandy,  poured  out  a  stiff  dose  of  it,  turned 
Pierre  over  and  raised  his  head  and  forced  a 
little  of  the  liquor  between  his  bloodless  lips. 
The  woodsman  opened  his  eyes. 

"Come,  drink  a  little  more,"  urged  Westley. 
"You  need  it.  You  are  hurt.  But  lie  btiil, 
Pierre.  Don't  move,  on  your  life." 
Pierre  swallowed  a  sip  of  the  brandy. 
"It  is  too  strong,"  he  said  faintly.  And  then, 
"I  feel  no  pain.  Ah,  now  I  remember— and  the 
pain  was  sharp  and  sudden." 

"Don't  talk  now,"  cautioned  Westley.  "I 
shall  do  what  I  can  for  you,  and  then  find  some 
one  who  can  do  better." 

With  folded  blankets  and  pillows  he  propped 
Pierre  up  on  his  right  side.  The  thin-lipped 
wound  still  bled  slowly  but  steadily.  He  washed 
it  thoroughly  with  hot  water  and  a  clean  linen 
cloth,  then  continued  to  bathe  it  for  several 
minutes. 

He  sincerely  regretted  his  ignorance  of  sur- 
gery and  tortured  his  brain  for  some  scraps 
of  knowledge  that  might  now  be  put  to  use. 
He  considered  it  a  good  sign  that  the  wound 
continued  to  bleed  outwardly,  for  he  had  heard 


152      TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 

somewhere  of  the  danger  of  internal  bleeding 
in  wounds  of  this  kind. 

And  yet  the  dark  blood  stole  ont  quietly,  as 
if  no  important  artery  had  been  severed.  He 
tore  a  clean  sheet  into  wide  strips  and  bound 
Pierre  around  and  around,  first  having  placed 
a  pad  of  soft  linen  upon  the  cut. 

"You  are  pretty  smart  doctor,"  said  Pierre, 
smiling  grayly.  "Who  knifed  me,  anyhow!  I 
didn't  see  anybody;  I  didn't  hear  anything." 

"Steve  Canadian,  I  suppose,"  replied  West- 
ley.  "We'll  find  that  out,  all  in  good  time.  But 
you  must  not  worry;  and  you  must  lie  abso- 
lutely still.  After  I  fix  you  more  comfortably 
I'll  go  and  consult  with  the  factor.  He  should 
know  more  about  doctoring  than  I  do." 
"I  guess  you  know  most  everything,"  said 

Pierre  MacKim. 

Westley  fixed  him  a  comfortable  bed  on  the 
floor  without  disturbing  him,  covered  him 
warmly,  gave  him  a  sip  of  brandy  and  water, 
and  left  the  cabin. 

He  started  for  the  big  house,  then  changed 
his  course  and  went  to  Dominic  Bcnoifs  cabin. 
The  father  and  daughter  were  at  supper,  and 
Marie  opened  the  door  to  him.  Her  fine  eyes 
brightened  swiftly  and  lowered  as  swiftly  as 
she  recognized  the  visitor. 

"Have  you  seen  anything  of  Steve  Canadian 
in  the  post  to-day  1""  asked  Westley,  glancing 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN      158 

Guickly  over  his  shoulder,  then  stepping  into 
Sie  room.  Dominic  pushed  his  chair  bade 
from  the  table  and  stood  up.  He  bowed  to 
Westley  with  a  fine  air. 

"No,  monsieur;'  replied  the  young  woman. 
"I  have  not  seen  that  fellow  for  days  and  days 
-and  I  pray  to  the  saints  that  I  may  never 
more  see  him  again  with  these  two  eyes.  But 
why  do  you  ask,  monsieurf" 

"Some  one  has  knifed  Pierre  in  the  back  to- 
night,"  said  Westley.  "I  found  him  lymg 
senseless  in  the  snow,  between  this  cabm  and 
his  own.  That  is  why  I  ask  if  you  have  seen 
that  sneaking,  cursed  Indian." 

The  warm  color  faded  from  Mane's  face  and 
she  raised  her  eyes  in  terrified  inquiry. 

"Knifedl"  she  whispered.     "Not  to  death, 

monsieurf" 

Westley's  eyes  were  upon  her.  His  gaze  was 
intent  and  keen.  He  had  expected  a  greater 
display  of  consternation  and  grief  than  this. 
He  turned  to  Dominic,  who  was  gazmg  at  him 
with  wide  eyes  and  a  slack  jaw. 

"Pierre  is  alive;  and,  considering  the  nature 
of  the  wound,  seems  to  be  doing  remarkably 
well,"  he  said  coolly.  "I  have  attended  to  him 
as  well  as  I  know  how;  but  I  am  looking  for 
help  and  advice."  . 

"You  take  me  to  Pierre,  monsieur,  said 
Dominic.    "I  know  something  about  knife  cuts, 


154      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

you  bet.     Pretty    good    doctor,   me,  Dominic 
Benoii" 

"You  tell  his  mother  yet,  monsieur?"  queried 
Marie  faintly. 

Westley  shook  his  head,  then  thanked  the 
Frenchman  for  his  offer  of  assistance,  and  ac- 
cepted it.    He  was  puzzled  by  the  girl's  attitude. 

Could  it  be  that  she  did  not  care  anything 
for  Pierre  MacKim,  after  all!  If  this  were 
the  case,  then  for  whom  did  she  care — to  whom 
had  her  affections  turned?  He  felt  uneasy  and 
not  entirely  guiltless. 

"I  will  go  tell  Rosie  MacKim,"  said  Marie. 
"I  will  tell  her  that  Pierre  get  hurt,  but  not 
very  bad.    Father,  you  put  on  your  coat." 

Westley  hurried  back  to  Pierre;  and  Domi- 
nic followed  in  a  few  minutes.  Pierre  was  rest- 
ing comfortably. 

The  Frenchman  gave  it  as  his  opinion  that 
the  knife  had  missed  any  vital  organ,  and  that 
Westley's  treatment  and  dressing  were  the 
best  that  could  be  applied  under  the  existing 
conditions. 

"If  fever  don't  heat  his  blood,  he  soon  be  all 
well,"  said  Dominic.  "Anyway,  I  watch  him 
close.  I  look  out  sharp  for  the  fever.  He  better 
not  have  very  big  supper.  Some  tea,  maybe,  an* 
condensed  milk." 

Westley  left  the  Frenchman  in  charge  and 
went  over    to    the    store.     He  returned  with 


TWO    SHALL    V.E   BORN      155 

evaporated  cream,  condensed  milk,  eanued  soups, 
and  several  more  dainties. 

He  charged  Pierre  not  to  change  his  position 
without  Dominic's  help,  and  then  went  to  the 
factor's  house.  He  found  Grant  at  supper,  and 
joined  him.  Grant's  face  was  shining  and  his 
beard  looked  more  untidy  than  ever. 

"Westley,  you  have  done  me  a  good  turn," 
he  said.  "I  had  given  up  hope  of  ever  going 
back  to  the  world— to  the  world  of  men  who 
know  other  things  than  the  fur  trade.  I  wro.te 
my  stories  to  kill  time— and  I  drank  more  than 
was  good  for  me  for  the  same  reason. 

"And  now  I  see  the  door— and  it  is  half  open. 
Within  the  year,  perhaps,  I  shall  pass  through 
-and  I  have  only  you  to  thank  for  it,  Westley." 
"AH  I  did  was  to  read  one  of  your  stories 
and  tell  the  truth  about  what  I  thought  of  it," 
said  Westley.  "I  am  glad  the  accident  turned 
out  so  well.  By  the  way,  if  you  feel  that  you 
are  under  any  obligations,  you  can  do  some- 
thing for  me  in  return." 
"Name  the  service,"  replied  the  factor.    "I 

am  your  man." 

"Then  warn  Steve  Canadian  out  of  this  coun- 
try," said  Westley. 

"Steve  Canadian!  The  vagrant  Indian!  Why, 
what  has  he  done  to  youl" 

"He  has  knifed  Pierre  MacKim  in  the  back, 

that  is  all." 


Ill 
I. 


i  = 


IP 


Ill 


156      TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 

"When  was  tha^-and  are  you  sure  of  your 
man!    Is  Pierre  dead?" 

"No,  Pierre  is  alive;  but  seriously  wounded. 
It  happened  to-day.  I  found  the  poor  chap 
about  an  hour  ago,  lying  senseless  in  the  snow 
half-way  between  Benoit'3  cabin  and  his  own. 
He  was  struck  from  behind  and  did  not  see 
or  hear  the  sneak  who  did  it.  It's  a  bad  stab; 
but  he  is  not  losing  much  blood. 

"I  am  afraid  the  knife  went  through  the  bot- 
tom of  the  left  lung.  I  think  there  can  be  little 
doubt  as  to  the  identity  of  the  stabber.  Who 
else  than  Steve  Canadian  is  skunk  enough  1" 

The  factor  stared  down  at  his  plate  and 
pulled  at  his  beard. 

"Do  you  know  that  Canadian  has  been  in  the 
post  to-day  1"  he  asked. 

"No,  I  have  not  seen  hira— and  no  one  has 
told  me  that  he  was  in  the  post,"  replied  West- 
ley.  "I  have  not  been  watching  his  comings 
and  goings  lately;  but  if  you  have  no  authority 
here  I'll  set  my  whole  gang  of  men  to  hunting 
out  his  hiding-place  and  running  him  out  of 
the  country.  I  know  he  is  the  man  who  tried 
to  kill  Pierre." 

"How  do  you  know?"  asked  the  factor,  with- 
out raising  his  eyes.  "How  do  you  know  that 
it  was  a  man  at  all?  It  might  have  been  a 
woman.  I  have  heard  of  such  things.  What 
about  Marie  Benoit?" 


CHAPTER  XI 


THE  factor's  story 

David  Westley  stare  ■  at  the  factor  of  Two 
Moose,  speechless  with  astonishment.  The  factor 
continued  to  gaze  down  at  his  plate. 

«« Yes— what  ahout  Marie  Benoitt"  he  re- 
peated. "She  is  as  primitive  as  she  is  pretty, 
you  know— and  that's  saying  a  good  deal.  A 
primitive  woman  in  love  is  very  apt  to  lose 
all  sense  of  proportion  and  justice." 

"Do  you  mean  that  she  knifed  Pierre  in  a 
fit  of  jealousy!"  asked  Westley.  "Man,  that  is 
absurd '    Pierre  never  looks  ^t  another  woman." 

"I  diu  not  say  that  she  i  y^vlms  of  Pierre 
MacKun,"  returned  the  f act :  .  "  i/>at  is  not 
at  ar  what  I  mean  to  imply,  '^e  I'nct  is,  she 
is  sick  of  Pierre  and  his  atteLiiOi.s  She  wants 
him  out  of  the  way— and  he  is  too  great  a  fool 
to  see  it.    She  has  set  her  wild  fancy  on  some 

one  else." 

Westley  laughed  derisively. 

"On  Steve  Canadian,  I  suppose!"  he  jeered. 

"No,"  replied  Grant.  "No,  not  on  the  poor, 
drunken,  homeless  Indian.  Guess  again,  West- 
ley." 

UT 


158      TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 

Westley  guessed;  and  his  face  hardened  and 
his  eyes  shone. 

"Grant,  you  are  talking  like  a  fool,"  he  said 
quietly.  "You  do  not  believe  what  you  say  any 
more  than  I  do.  You  know,  as  well  as  I  do, 
that  the  girl  did  not  try  to  kill  Pierre  Mac- 
Kim.  I  cannot  think  of  your  reason  for  want- 
mg  to  saddle  her  with  the  crime,  and  I  am 
as  greatly  at  a  loss  to  see  your  object  in  wish- 
ing to  protect  Canadian.** 

"I  do  not  want  to  saddle  her  with  the  crime,** 
said  the  other. 

"But  why  are  you  trying  to  shield  Steve 

Canadian  V* 

"You  can  prove  nothing  against  him,**  re- 
torted Grant  weakly. 

"Perhaps  rot;  but  I  intend  to  hunt  him  out 
of  this  country  as  surely  as  I  own  twenty  thou- 
sand acres  of  it,"  replied  Westley. 

"Don't!'*  cried  the  factor,  glancing  up  swiftly 
with  a  shadow  of  fear  in  his  mild  eyes. 

"Don't?"  repeated  Westley  in  a  hard,  in- 
credulous voice.  "I  don't  understand  you.  Grant. 
There  is  something  behind  all  this  that  I  know 
nothing  about— something  not  very  creditable 
to  you,  I  should  say.** 

"You  are  right,**  said  Grant,  scarcely  above 
a  whisper.     "So,  for  Heaven*s  sake,  leave  it 

at  that!" 
"Leave  it  at  that?    And  let  the  fellow  com- 


I 


TWO    SHALL   BE    BORN      159 

mit  murder?"  retorted  Westley  angrily  and  dis- 
gustedly.   "Man,  you  must  be  mad  I" 

"I  will  speak  to  him,"  said  Grant  nervously. 
"I  give  you  my  word,  Westley,  that  he'll  not 
lift  his  hand  against  Pierre  again — ^while  I 
am  here,  anyway.  I  swear  it.  I'll  try  to  get 
him  out  of  the  country." 

"What  is  his  hold  on  you?"  asked  Westley. 

Grant  groaned  and  hid  his  face  between  his 
thin  hands. 

"Tell  me,"  said  the  other,  "or  I  will  hunt 
him  down  and  take  him  before  the  nearest 
magistrate  on  the  charge  of  attempted  laurder." 

"Don't!"  cried  the  factor.  "Westley,  you 
don't  know  what  you  threaten.  I  beg  you  to 
be  merciful.  I  give  you  my  word  of  honor 
that  the  Indian  will  do  no  more  harm  in  this 
country.  Yes,  he  has  a  hold  on  me — a  strangle- 
hold, Heaven  help  me  I" 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Westley,  moved  deeply 
by  pity,  suspicion,  and  curiosity. 

"My  name  is  not  Grant,"  replied  the  other 
dully.  "I  am  supposed  to  be  dead.  Steve  Ca- 
nadian knows  me  for  the  man  who  was  re- 
ported as  dead.  He  knows  too  much,  I  have 
kept  his  mouth  shut.  If  T  were  possessed  of 
more  nerve  I — I'd  have  killed  him  long  ago. 
To  arrest  him  now  would  mean  my  ruin — 
now,  when  the  door  of  escape  is  half  open  to 
me." 


160      TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 

"So  you  came  here  under  a  false  name,  to 
escape  from  disgrace,"  said  Westley.  "How 
did  you  manage  to  hoodwink  the  U.  13.  v^.i 

"It  was  done  for  me— by  some  of  my  rela- 
tives, I  think-anyway,  for  the  sake  of  the 

family."  ,      ,     ,,     .^i 

"Ai.^  you  are  supposed  to  be  dead!  Ard 
Steve  Canadian  knows  all  thist  And  you  are 
living  in  daily  terror  that  he  may  tell  what 
he  knows.    Heavens,  man,  it  must  be  a  black 

disgrace!"  .   ,  „     «    i. 

"It  was  called  cowardice,"  replied  the  factor 

bitterly.  _ 

"It  happened  in  South  Africa.  Our  com- 
manding o.mcer  was  my  own  uncle.  The  senior 
subaltern  of  my  company-I  was  a  captain 
-was  my  younger  brother.  In  one  hellish 
minute  both  the  family  and  the  regiment  were 

disgraced.  ,         .^, 

"The  regiment  wiped  out  the  blot  with  new 
deeds  of  valor  and  bloodshed;  and  my  supposed 
death,  suffered  on  the  vory  field  of  disgrace, 
left  my  memory  clean.  I  had  paid  the  pnce, 
d'you  see!     That  was  the  idea. 

"Dead,  I  am  pitied  as  one  who  showed  the 
white  feather  in  a  moment  of  weakness,  and 
then   in  remorse,  threw  his  life  away  uselessly 

and   courageously.     But  alivet-ah,   you   can 

imagine  it! 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN      161 

'I  am  dead.  I  paid  the  price.  I  died  on  the 
field  of  action— and  the  bones  of  some  poor 
devil  of  a  private  soldier  rot  in  my  grave.  So 
it  was  managed  by  my  uncle  and  my  brother,  to 
save  the  reputations  of  the  family  and  the  regi- 
ment—and  I  am  dead!    But  Donald  Grant  still 

lives. 

"Don't  you  see?  Grant  the  factor  lives  here 
at  Two  Moose  now ;  but  Grant  the  novelist  will 
live  in  the  world  of  men  and  cities.  Donald 
Grant's  name  must  not  be  associated  with  that 
of  the  poor  devil  who  died  in  South  Africa." 

"So  you  are  a  coward,"  was  Westley's  com- 
ment. 

"I  have  imagination,"  replied  the  other  bitter- 
ly. "It  was  stronger  than  my  training  and 
my  sense  of  duty  when  the  rifles  and  machine- 
guns  opened  upon  us,  and  men  of  my  com- 
pany fell  on  this  side  and  that,  broken,  shat- 
tered, riddled,  with  froth  and  congested  blood 
fluttering  between  their  blue  lips.  Heavens!— 
I  had  never  been  under  fire  before." 
Westley's  heart  failed  him  and  was  twisted 

with  pity. 
"But  how  comes  it  tiiat  Steve  Canadian  knows 

all  this!"  he  asked. 

"He  used  to  live  in  Newfoundland,  and  I  had 
once  employed  him  as  a  guide  there,  on  a  trip 
up  country  after  caribou.     Some  years  later, 


ill 


I 


■HHIBil! 


.''»J 


■HUB 


162      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

and  after  my  disgrace  and  supposed  death,  he 
took  a  subaltern  of  tb  id  regiment  into  the 
•woods. 

"This  boy  had  i  ^oe  my  time;  but 

when  Canadian  heard  w.  name  of  his  regiment 
he  asked  when  I  was  coming  to  Newfoundland 
again.  The  subaltern  knew  the  story,  of  course, 
of  my  brief  fit  of  cowardice  and  my  courageous 
death,  and  he  told  it  to  the  Indian— told  it,  and 
all  that  it  meant 

"When  Steve  Canadian  came  into  this  coun- 
try a  few  months  ago,  he  knew  me  the  first  mo- 
ment he  set  eyes  on  me,  despite  my  beard  and 
change  of  name." 

Both  men  were  silent  after  that  for  several 
minutes.  The  factor  had  turned  his  chair 
around,  and  now  sat  with  his  face  to  the  window 
and  his  shoulder  to  Westley.  Westley  was  the 
first  to  break  the  painful  silence. 

"If  I  can  pull  Pierre  through,  I'll  not  disturb 
Steve  Canadian,"  he  said  gently. 

The  factor  nodded  his  head  without  turning. 
He  did  not  speak. 

"By  the  way,  if  you  were  killed  in  your  first 
engagement,  how  do  you  happen  to  be  wear-ing 
medal-loops  on  your  evening  coatt"  asked  West- 
ley. 

"It  is  not  my  coat."  replied  Grant  wearily. 
"Some  thinjEs  were  sent  ont  to  me  by  my  peo- 
ple—by  those   of  my   faniily   who  know— and 


iL^. 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 


1G3 


very  likely  the  coat  is  an  old  one  of  my  lather's 
or  my  uncle's.  I  did  not  notice  the  looiis  un- 
til that  night  you  spoke  of  them.  I  have  cut 
them  off  since." 

Westley  got  to  his  feet  and  jnoved  around  the 

end  of  the  table. 

"I  am  borr>',  Grant."  he  yaid  slowly  and 
awkwardly.  "It  was  bad  luck— the  worst  in  the 
^orld— and  all  imagination  and  nerves,  am  you 

say. 

"What  you  have  told  me  is  safe  with  me,  &e 
sure  of  that.  I  don't  consider  you  a  -oward— 
and  I  know  that  when  you  hinted  luat  thing 
about  Marie  you  did  not  expect  me  to  believe  it. 

"You  must  think  of  some  way  of  keeping 
Steve  in  hand,  though;  and  you  will  have  t©  ap- 
point a  new  mail-runner  immediately.  I  h#pe 
yo«'l'    get   out   into   tlie   world   again.      Shake 

on  it" 

The  factor  turned  in  his  chair  and  stood  up. 
He  grasped  Westley's  hand,  pressed  it  hard  and 
swiftly,  breathing  unevenly. 

"Thanks,"  be  said  nervously.  "You- you 
are  a  good  chap." 

Then  he  left  the  room  without  another  word 

or  glance. 

Westley  went  back  to  hif«  own  cabin  and  the 
wounded  man.  His  heail  was  sore  with  pity 
for  the  factor  of  Two  Moose. 

Ue  found  both  Pierre  and   Dominic  asleep. 


t 


',■■*? 


W' 


164      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

the  first  in  his  bed  on  the  floor,  the  second  in  a 
chair.  By  cuch  signs  as  an  extra  blanket  over 
the  wounded  man,  a  rosary  between  the  slack 
fingers,  and  a  roll  of  clean  linen  on  the  table, 
he  guessed  that  the  mother  had  come  and  gone. 

He  aroused  the  Frenchman,  and  asked  about 
the  patient  and  his  medical  treatment.  Dominic 
was  not  anxious.  He  smiled  knowingly,  and 
assured  Westley  that  the  wounded  man  would 
be  as  smart  as  a  chipmunk  within  three  weeks* 
time. 

"01'  Dominic  Benoit  one  mighty  fine  doctor," 
he  said. 

So  Westley  left  Pierre's  case  in  the  hands  of 
Rosie  MacKim  and  Dominic.  Marie  visited 
the  sufferer  once  a  day. 

The  work  of  his  great  undertaking  was  now 
crowding  Westley.  From  dawn  till  dark  he  was 
busy  with  Duff  and  the  men  of  the  camps.  The 
sledges  were  built  on  which  the  boiler  and  ma- 
chinery for  the  new  mill  were  to  be  hauled  in 
from  St.  Anne's. 

Then  the  seventy-five-mile  snowshoe  journey 
was  made.  Duff,  Westley,  and  a  couple  of  the 
bosses  went  ahead,  choosing  the  route.  All  the 
men  of  the  two  lumber-camps  followed,  tramping 
four  abreast  and  dragging  the  sledges.  The 
largest  sled,  which  came  last,  was  weighted  with 
logs.  The  smaller  sledges  were  loaded  with 
tents,  blankets,  food,  and  cooking  outfits  for  the 
whole  crew. 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN      165 

They  made  thirty  miles  the  first  day,  and 
went  into  camp  with  ten  men  limping  and  stiff 
with  snowshoe  cramp.  They  halted  more  fre- 
quently the  next  day,  and  so  did  only  twenty 
miles. 

On  the  third  day  they  pressed  ahead  at  the 
best  pace  they  could  manage,  with  their  cramped 
companions  on  the  big  sled  in  the  places  of  the 
sticks  of  timber.  Shortly  before  sundown  they 
hauled  into  the  astonished  village  of  St.  Anne's, 
leaving  behind  them  a  broad  and  beaten  track 
leading  all  the  way  back,  seventy-five  miles 
across  the  wilderness  to  the  site  of  the  new  mill 
on  the  bank  of  Smoky  River,  beyond  Two 
Moose. 

Three  days  from  Two  Moose  to  St.  Anne's 
with  loaded  sledges!  This  was  a  record.  In 
the  eyes  of  the  ir.babiti  ata  of  the  village,  David 
Westley  was  a  hero,  Mr.  Duff  was  a  hero,  all 
the  bosses  and  all  the  men  were  heroes. 

The  boiler  and  all  the  gear  for  the  mill  was 
ready.  Duff  told  Westley  that  the  men  should 
have  a  day's  rest  before  loading  and  starting 
the  homeward  trip.  Westley  agreed  with  him; 
and  then  the  rest  and  the  trouble  began.  A 
northern  lumber-jack's  idea  of  rest  is  a  queer 
and  fearful  thing. 

Westlcy's  husky  lads  feU  singly,  in  pairs,  in 
squads,  and  in  companies.  If  they  had  fallen 
to  lie  stiil  it  would  not  have  been  so  bad,  but 
they  fell  only  to  rise  again,  to  face  the  enemy 


I 


I 


;  ii 


m 


166      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

again,  and  to  fall  again.  Westley,  Duff  and 
the  foremen  of  the  camps,  the  notary  and  the 
mill-owner  of  the  village,  went  among  them  and 
did  what  they  could  to  stay  and  turn  the  flood 
of  foolishness  and  disorder. 

Many  hard  blows  were  struck;  many  bottles 
were  broken  against  the  frosty  walls  of  the 
little  houses  in  which  they  had  been  bought. 

Even  so,  it  was  not  until  the  morning  of  the 
fourth  day  after  their  arrival  that  they  set  out 
on  the  return  trip.  Fortunately,  new  snow  had 
fallen  during  the  three  days  of  uproar;  but  it 
was  a  damaged,  sore-looking  company  that  put 
forth  with  the  loaded  sledges.  The  poison  had 
done  its  work,  and  at  the  signs  of  it— red  eyes, 
swollen  faces,  and  shaking  knees— David  West- 
ley  swore  bitterly. 

Me  ■  t'ell  over  their  own  snowshoes  in  the  level 
traci  ,  'id  scrambled  up,  cursing.  One  of  the 
smaller  sleds  served  for  an  ambulance.  Westley 
brought  up  the  rear  of  the  remorseful  column. 
Nine  miles  was  the  distance  covered  that  day 
between  sunup  and  sundown. 

They  made  better  time  next  day ;  and  by  the 
third  day  out  from  St.  Anne's  the  men  wf  re 
in  fair  condition  again.  They  ate  like  wolves 
and  worked  like  dogs  now— and  the  joke  of  it 
was  that  the  majority  of  them  thought  they 
had  enjoyed  themselves  in  St.  Anne's. 
Even  under  the  swiftly  improving  conditions, 


I"  I 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN      167 

the  homeward  journey,  with  the  heavy  loads  and 
the  long  though  gradual  upgrade,  proved  a 
formidable  task.  On  the  sixth  morning  out  from 
Si  Anne's,  and  when  they  were  within  seven 
miles  of  the  end  of  their  journey,  they  were 
met  by  a  runner  from  Two  Moose. 

This  runner  was  a  half-breed  lad.  He  told 
Westley,  in  broken  English,  that  Dominic  Benoit 
had  sent  him  to  say  that  Pierre  MacKim  was 
very  bad  with  fever — ^very  bad — and  that  he, 
Dominie,  could  do  no  more,  and  would  be  glad 
to  hand  over  the  case  to  a  real  doctor.  Westley 
questioned  the  lad  clowely,  then  called  Duff 
to  him  and  talked  earnestly  for  a  minute  or 
two. 

"Oh,  don't  worry  about  the  mill  I"  said  Duff. 
"I  can  land  the  gear  right  where  you  want  it, 
and  set  it  up  in  a  couple  of  days — and  the  men 
are  mild  as  partridges  now.  But  what  about 
yout    MaUj  you  must  be  dog-sick  of  this  trail! 

"And  to  turn  now,  within  a  few  miles  of 
home.  You  must  be  mighty  fond  of  that  f3llow 
Pierre.  Oh,  yes,  he  is  a  good  enough  breed, 
as  breeds  go;  but  you  wouldn't  catch  me  turn- 
ing round  now  and  hoofing  it  all  the  way  back 
to  St.  Anne's  for  half  a  dozen  like  hira.  We'll 
be  having  snow  before  night,  too.  And  the  doc- 
tor at  St.  Anne's  isn't  worth  a  fiddler,  any- 
way.'* 

**0f  course  I  am  going  back,"  said  Westley. 


i  ^M 


IS  i' 


168      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

"Any  man  would  do  it;  you  would  yourself  if 
I  didn't.  I  can't  let  Pierre  die  for  want  of  a 
doctor.  I'll  make  up  a  pack  now  and  take 
this  young  fellow  along  with  me.  All  the 
business  is  in  your  hands  until  I  get  back, 
Duff— and  have  an  eye  on  Pierre,  will  you?  Try 
to  keep  him  alive  until  I  get  back  with  the  doc- 
tor. I  don't  quite  trust  Dominic  Benoit  as 
a  medical  man.  I  should  have  stayed  and 
looked  after  the  poor  fellow  myself." 

"Well,  you're  your  own  master,"  replied  Duff 
none  too  cheerfully.  "Hoof  it  back  to  St.  Anne's 
if  you  want  to.  Oh,  yes,  I'll  take  a  look  at 
the  sick  man!" 

So  David  Westley  and  the  lad  turned  and 
started  back  along  the  wide,  white  trail.  Before 
Duff,  Westley  had  pretended  to  accept  this  ex- 
tra journey  quite  as  a  matter  of  course;  but 
beneath  a  calm  and  undismayed  exterior  he  felt 
anger  and  chagrin  as  well  as  pity  for  Pierre. 

He  was  tired— weary  of  the  white  trail,  of 
the  black  forests,  of  the  glare  and  the  cold. 
For  days  he  had  been  looking  forward  to  the 
comfort  of  his  little  cabin,  to  the  cheery  activi- 
ties of  putting  up  the  mill,  to  his  books  and  a 
talk  with  the  factor— yes,  and  in  his  weaker 
moments  he  had  thought  with  a  certain  glow, 
half  of  shame  and  half  of  pleasure,  of  seeing 
Marie  Benoit  again. 
For  a  mile  or  two  he  walked  in  silence,  smok- 


Sg^'"-^ 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN      169 

ing  his  pipe,  with  the  silent  half-breed  at  his 
heels.    It  was  the  lad  who  spoke  first. 

"The  factor,  he  make  me  new  mail-runner," 
he  said— "me,  Gabe  Bear." 

"That  so?    Pretty  good  job,  I  suppose,"  re- 
plied Westley,  awaking  from  his  reveries. 

"Fine,"  said  Gabe.    "I  get  him  now  I  keep 

him  always.    Pierre,  he  mighty  bad.    He  don't 

get  well.    He  never  run  dis  trail  agin— Pierre." 

"How  is  Marie!"  asked  Westley,   glancing 

sidewise  at  the  other. 

"She  fret  some,  yes;  but  she  get  plenty 
smarter  feller  nor  Pierre  MacKim.  You  bet! 
She  fret  now— some.  She  heap  sorry  'bout 
Pierre  get  knifed;  but  she  don't  holler  like 
Rosie  MacKim." 

"I  am  afraid  Marie  is  like  some  other  pretty 
girls — a  trifle  heartless,"  remarked  the  New 
Yorker  grimly. 
"Maybe,  I  dunno,"  returned  Gabe  Bear. 
Snow  commenced  to  fall  before  they  made 
camp  beside  the  trail  that  night.  They  built 
a  little  shelter  of  spruce  boughs,  with  a  great 
fire  in  front  of  it.  They  got  into  their  sleeping- 
bags  early. 

Westley  sank  to  sleep  almost  instantly,  hazily 
thinking  of  Marie  and  Pierre. 

But  he  dreamed  of  Dorothy  Gordon.  It  was 
a  wonderful  dream,  though  broken,  absurd,  and 
meaningless,  as  most  dreams  are.    Yet  it  was 


if 


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I 


170      TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 

vivid,  and  its  absurdities  seemed  more  real 
thaD  reality. 

In  one  of  the  wildly  mixed  scenes  of  this 
dream  he  was  lost  in  a  terrible,  daunting  swamp 
of  dead  tamaracks.  He  wandered  here  and 
there,  as  terrified  as  a  child  would  be,  seeking 
a  way  out  and  battling  blindly  with  the  black 
mud,  the  dead  branches  and  gray  moss.  And 
at  last  he  heard  a  voice,  faint  and  far  away. 

He  struggled  toward  it,  shouting  in  reply. 
The  voice  sounded  again,  a  little  stronger,  a 
little  nearer,  and  sweetly  familiar.  He  kiew 
that  it  was  the  voice  of  a  friend — ^but  he  could 
not  remember  the  name  or  face  of  the  friend. 
He  struggled  onward,  guided  by  the  voice. 

At  last  he  came  to  higher,  firmer  ground  and 
fell,  exhausted.  Some  one  lifted  him  from  the 
ground,  and  he  saw  the  face  of  Dorothy  close 
above  him. 

Westley  remembered  nothing  more  than  that 
part  of  the  dream  when  he  awoke  in  the  morn- 
ing. It  caused  him  some  bitter  and  disturbing 
reflections  as  he  ate  his  breakfast  by  the  fire 
in  the  snow. 

"Dreams  are  just  the  foolish,  mad  things  that 
a  man  has  sense  enough  not  to  think  when  he 
is  awake,"  he  said  to  Gabe  Bear. 

"I  guess  so.  I  dunno,"  replied  the  half- 
breed. 


CHAPTER  Xn 


THE  GOBDONS  GO  NOETH 


Far  away  from  Two  Moose  and  Smoky 
River,  in  the  clanging  city  of  New  York,  Mr. 
John  Angus  Gordon  lost  sleep  and  flesh  from 
worrying  about  his  daughter.  The  girl  was  not 
her  old  self.  Her  gaiety  struck  her  anxious 
father  as  being  as  forced  as  it  was  infrequent. 

Still  she  went  the  rounds  of  dinners  and 
dances ;  still  she  kept  up  the  fiction,  to  the  peo- 
ple whom  she  met  week  after  week,  of  knowing 
where  David  Westley  wa  and  of  corresponding 
with  him.  Mr.  Gordon  tried  to  persuade  her 
to  go  to  Florida  with  her  aunt;  to  Bermuda;  to 
California;  to  the  south  of  England;  to  the 
south  of  France. 

He  offered  himself  as  her  companion.  He  sent 
for  his  son,  Tom,  who  was  ripening  a  liberal 
education  somewhere  in  Europe.  The  honest 
man  was  thoroughly  frightened. 

He  had  lost  hope  of  straightening  matters 
with  the  assistance  of  Captain  Joice;  for  Joice 
had  gone  away  from  the  city,  no  one  knew 
where,   shortly   after   Christmas.     The  entire 

171 


172      TWO    SHALL   BE    BORN 

weight  of   Dorothy's    unhappiness   lay  on  his 
own  broad  shoulders. 

Dorothy's  change  of  front  seemed  very  sud- 
den to  her  father.  It  came  upon  him  so  sud- 
denly that  he  was  at  a  loss  to  know  whether 
to  rejoice  over  it  or  to  regret  it.  She  appeared 
at  breakfast  one  morning  with  shadowed  eyes 
and  paler  cheeks  than  usual. 

"You  must  let  people  know  that  all  is  over 
between  David  and  me,"  she  said  quietly.  *'It 
will  have  to  be  given  to  the  press,  I  suppose, 
for  our  engagement  was  published.  I  have 
been  thinking  it  over  all  night.  That  is  the 
only  thing  to  do.     You  will  see  to  it,  deart" 

"Bless  my  soul!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Gordon.  "It 
seems  to  me  rather  a  late  day  to — to  tell  the 
truth  about  it.    So  this  is  the  end  of  it?" 

"No,"  she  replied.  "No,  this  is  not  the  end 
of  it — as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  at  least.  But 
people  must  be  told  that  this  is  the  end  of  it. 
I  am  tired — tired." 

Mr.  Gordon  shook  his  head.  He  looked 
anxious,  bewildered,  and  dejected — and  no  won- 
der.   He  longed  for  Walter  Joice. 

"I  don't  understand,"  he  said.  "What  am  I 
to  tell  the — the  newspaper-reading  public?  The 
truth?  The  belated  ruth.  It  will  sound  queer, 
coming  so  late — months  after  it  happened." 

"We  have  agreed  to  break  the — engagement," 
said  Dorothy.    "I  do  not  approve  of  his  life — 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN      178 


of  his  devotion  to  hunting  and  exploration.  I 
want  him  to  spend  his  time  in  New  York,  and 
he  wants  to  spend  it  all  in  out-of-the-way  cor- 
ners of  the  earth.  Surely  that  sounds  reason- 
able. That  is  all  the  inquisitive  people  need 
know.  That  is  what  they  must  think.  It  is 
no  more  unjust  to  either  of  us  than  the  truth." 

"That  is  rather  clever,"  said  Mr.  Gordon. 
"But  what  is  the  truth?" 

"The  truth  is  that  it  is  all  a  fearful  mistake," 
replied  the  girl  unsteadily.  "We  were  both 
thoughtless — ^and  selfish.  I  pretended  not  to 
care — as  I  really  cared.  Perhaps  David  did 
the  same.  It  is  the  smart  thing  nowadays — ^to 
pretend  not  to  care.  I  am  sure  he — does  not 
know  how  fond  I  am  of  him.  If  he  knew — 
he  would  come  back.  He — loved  me.  And  I — 
love  him.    And  I  have  not  given  him  up." 

"And  yet  people  are  to  be  told  that  you  have 
given  him  up?"  said  the  bewildered  father. 

"Yes.  What  does  it  matter  what  they  think? 
It  will  give  me  a  chance  to — rest.    I  am  tired." 

And  with  that  Dorothy  put  her  hands  before 
her  face  and  began  to  cry  quietly,  bitterly. 

John  Angus  sprang  from  his  armchair,  knock- 
ing a  spoon  from  the  table  and  overturning  a 
silver  toast-rack  with  the  morning  paper  which 
he  held  gripped  in  his  hand.  He  trembled  from 
top  to  toe,  and  his  face  was  very  red. 

"Don*t  do    that— don't    cryl"  he   exclaimed. 


1^' 


174      TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 

"Lord,  I  can't  stand  it.  And  Wilkes  may  come 
in  with  more  toast — or  one  of  the  maids.  Come, 
now,  cheer  up,  there's  a  good  girl !  What  d'you 
want?  What  d'you  want  me  to  do!  Shall 
I  go  look  for  Westley?  Just  say  the  word,  and 
stop  crying,  and  I'll  go.  I'll  go  right  around  to 
Westley's  house  and  take  that  confour'led  smug 
man  of  his  by  the  gizzard  and  twist  the  address 
out  of  him.  Then  I'll  go  find  Westley,  if  it  takes 
me  to  the  end  of  the  world,  by  thunder,  and 
bring  him  back  to  you  by  the  scuff  of  the  neck 
— if  he  won't  come  any  other  ws  ." 

Dorothy  raised  her  face  from  her  hai  ds  and 
brushed  away  the  tears  with  a  scrap  of  lace 
and  fine  linen.  Gordon  returned  to  his  chair 
breathless  and  not  a  little  ashamed  of  his  out- 
break. 

"You  must  not  go  to  his  house,"  she  said. 
"You  must  not  even  question  David's  servant. 
Will  you  promise?" 

"I  promise,"  he  replied.  "Arrange  it  to  suit 
yourself." 

"I  want  you  to  take  me  away — away  from 
New  York,"  she  said. 

"I'll  do  it,  Dot;  but  let  us  wait  for  Tom.  His 
boat  is  due  in  p  couple  of  days.  Then  we'll  go 
—well,  where  you  say.     What's  your  idea!" 

"Yes,  we'll  wait  for  Tom,  and  take  him  with 


us. 


"South,  or  east,  or  west— where  shall  we  go!" 
"North." 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN      175 

"North?  This  time  of  year!  Ah,  so  you 
k  w  where  David  is,  do  yout  And — and  you 
have  so  little  self-respect  that  you  mean  to 
go  hunting  for  him,  and  take  the  family  along 
with  you?  Hang  it  all,  Dot,  that's  not  like 
you.  I  gave  you  credit  for  more  pride  than 
that." 

The  girl's  eyes  brightened,  and  her  pale 
cheeks  flushed  red. 

"Pride?"  she  queried.  "Oh,  my  dear  father, 
let  us  have  done  with  all  talk  of  pride.  Self- 
respect?  That  is  quite  another  thing — and  I 
assure  you  that  I  am  not  lacking  in  self-respect. 

"If  I  knew  where  to  find  David,  I  should  cer- 
tainly go  to  him — and  if  he  is  what  I  think  him, 
I  should  tell  him  the  truth.  But  I  do  not  know 
where  to  find  him.  He  is  somewhere  in  Canada, 
in  the  woods.  I  have  no  intention  of  hunting 
for  him;  but  I  want  to  go  north. 

"I  want  to  get  away  from  this  town — I  want 
to  find  rest — rest — if  only  for  a  few  weeks. 
Snow  and  miles  of  black  forests  sound  restful 
to  me.  We  shall  see  them  from  the  windows  of 
the  train  -and  perhaps  we  can  stop  off  at  some 
little  snow-bound  village  for  a  few  days.  Tom 
would  like  that.  He  might  be  able  to  get  some 
shooting." 

She  gazed  pleadingly  at  her  father,  her  eyes 
stili  glistening  with  tears. 

He  shifted  uneasily  in  his  chair. 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  said.    "I  am  sorry  I  spoke 


176      TWO    SHALL   BF    BORN 


MHm 


harshly — and  unjustly.  Of  couise  we'll  take  a 
little  jaunt  north.  We'll  stop  off  somewhere 
and  give  Tom  some  shooting,  if  the  season  is 
still  open,  and  we'll  spend  a  week  in  the  city  of 
Quebec. 

"That's  a  fine  old  town — and,  now  that  I 
come  to  think  of  it,  I  have  some  business  there. 
It  is  land  and  lumber  business,  and  I  was  think- 
ing of  sending  young  Turner  to  see  ""o  it — 
but  I  can  do  it  as  well  myself.  Why,  ourse 
we'll  go  north.  I  am  glad  you  suf  _,wdted  it. 
Dot." 

He  left  his  chair,  walked  around  the  table, 
and  kissed  his  daughter.  He  patted  her  cheek 
with  his  square,  strong,  soft  hand.  His  eyes 
became  suddenly  dim. 

"You  know  that  I  don't  mean  to  be  a — ^beast," 
he  said  thickly.  "I  am  worried.  I  think  only 
of  what  is  best  for  you.  Happiness  is  best  for 
you,  my  girl — and  rest  in  the  meantime." 

The  story  that  Miss  Gordon  and  Mr.  David 
Westley  had  agreed  to  disagree  appeared  in 
several  newspapers  both  in  America  and  Eng- 
land. The  item  explained,  briefly  and  without 
comment,  that  Mr.  Westley's  devotion  to  explo- 
ration and  the  roughest  kinds  of  outdoor  sport, 
and  Miss  Gordon's  fondness  for  the  amusements 
of  the  social  life  of  cities,  were  the  causes  of 
the  broken  engagement. 

A  good  deal  of  talk  followed.    Some  people 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BOR^       177 

on  the  inside  said  that  the  story  sounded  de- 
cidedly fishy. 

The  editor  of  a  weekly  with  a  decidedly  fla- 
grant reputation  was  rash  enough  to  mention 
Captain  Walter  Joice  in  connection  with  the 
affair. 

John  Angus  Gordon  called  on  that  editor  with 
his  heaviest  walking-stick — and  the  editor  en- 
joyed a  brief  holiday  in  hospital  which  he  had 
not  expected.  Of  course,  Mr.  Gordon  had  to 
pay  a  fine. 

Young  Tom  Gordon  arrived  in  New  York  on 
time.  He  had  heard  from  his  father  of  the 
trouble  between  Dorothy  and  David  Westley. 
He  was  a  great  admirer  of  Westley,  and  always 
maintained  that  he  owed  his  life  to  that  mighty 
hunter. 

He  was  a  well-set-up,  long-limbed,  good-na- 
tured youth,  unspoiled  by  a  life  of  ease  and 
gentled  by  a  knowledge  of  the  world.  He  sent 
his  ^  "^  "'lome,  and  went  straight  to  his  father's 
offic 

In  o  office,  behind  a  closed  door,  the  two 
had  a,  long  and  serious  talk.  They  agreed  that 
the  wisest  plan  was  to  give  Dorothy  her  head — 
within  the  bounds  of  reason,  of  course. 

They  agreed  on  everything,  in  fac*^,  except 
their  private  opinions  of  David  Westley.  Mr. 
Gordon  nursed  a  vague  but  stubborn  grudge 
against  Westley  which  Tom  could  not  under- 


178      TWO    SHALL   BE    BORN 

stand  and  could  not  discover  any  reasonable 
cause  for.  John  Angus  was  somewhat  puzzled 
to  account  for  it  himself. 

"The  fact  is,  I  never  got  on  very  well  with 
David's  father,"  he  admitted.  "The  old  man 
double-crossed  me  more  than  once.  That  is 
enough  to  sore  me  on  the  nam^ — though  of 
course  the  son  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
father's  business  methods.  I  don't  mind  telling 
you,  Tom,  that  I  show  a  nasty  spirit  in  feeling 
as  I  do  about  David  Westley;  and  this  row 
with  Dorothy— whoever  was  in  fault— hasn't 
made  me  like  him  any  better. 

"I  haven't  a  doubt  that  it  was  largely  Dot's 
fault;  but  what  the  deuce  does  he  mean  by 
hiding  away  in  the  woods  and  not  answering 
her  letters? 

"Yes,  I  know  she  has  written  to  him— more 
than  once.  She  is  a  girl  in  a  thousand— and 
sue  is  my  daughter.  Do  you  expect  me  to  sit 
down  and  say,  'It  serves  her  right;  God  bless 
Westley'? 

"'  ^U,  by  thunder,  you'll  have  to  take  it  out 
in  expectation!  I'm  not  that  kind.  He  is 
breaking  her  heart.  What  do  I  care  whether  she 
gave  him  cause  or  not?  It  is  her  heart  I  am 
thinking  about." 

"I  think  the  fault  must  have  been  both  of 
theirs,  sir,"  replied  "^  om,  "and  I  feel  sure  that 
Westley  is  convinced  that  she  does  not  care 


TWO    SHALL   BE    BORN      179 

for  him.  I  know  that  he  was  very  fond  of  her 
— and  he  never  struck  me  as  the  kind  of  man 
to  change  toward  a  woman.  He  has  rather  ^ 
headlong  temper  and  a  i)retty  snifty  pride. 

"I  have  an  idea  that  Joice  is  the  snag  on  which 
he  has  broken  himself.  Joic^  ia  a  big  chap — 
and  there  was  a  good  deal  of  talk  about  him  and 
Dorothy.  I  heard  something  of  it  in  Paris, 
lie  is  a  marked  man,  you  see.  No  one  can  blame 
him  for  tagging  round  after  her  in  London; 
but  he  should  have  had  more  sense  than  to  cross 
with  her.  He  made  a  mistake,  and  she  made  a 
mistake — and  very  likely  poor  old  Westley 
made  half  a  dozen  mistakes.  He  is  making  them 
now,  I  suppose,  poor  chap.  That's  the  way  I 
feel  about  the  affair,  sir— and  I  think  it  is  all 
a  shame!" 

"It  is,"  said  John  Angus.  "I  am  sorry  for 
both  of  them — and  I  am  sorry  for  Joice,  too. 
He  is  a  good  fellow,  that  Walter  Joice.  I  like 
him.  But  I  see  that  the  best  thing  he  can  do 
is  to  get  over  his  infatuation  as  quickly  as  he 
knows  how;  and  I  must  give  all  my  attention 
to  making  things  easier  for  Dorothy.  We'll  go 
at  it  shoulder  to  shoulder,  Tom.  She'ii  find  that 
she  has  a  father  and  a  brother,  anyway,  who 
can  be  depended  on." 

Two  days  later  the  three  Gordons  left  New 
York  for  the  north,  leaving  behind  them  a 
great  deal  of  unsatis.  "'0.   curiosity   and,   as  I 


180      TWO   SHALL    BE   BORN 


have  already  stated,  an  indiscreet  editor  in 
hospital. 

From  Boston  they  ran  comfortably  to  Mon- 
treal; from  Montreal,  after  a  day's  rest,  to  the 
ancient  city  of  Quebec. 

Dorothy  had  a  strong  will,  and  forced  her- 
self to  rest  She  dreamed  and  she  waited, 
resting.  It  was  better  to  dream  than  to  think; 
and  here — away  from  the  stir  and  familiar, 
meaningless  activities  of  a  spendthrift  and  shal- 
low society — she  found  it  easy  to  dream. 

From  the  windows  of  the  gliding  car  she 
looked  out  upon  vastnesses  of  snow  and  timber, 
looming  hills  and  shrouded  barrens.  Looking, 
she  understood  how  a  strong  man  might  find 
refuge  from  the  life  of  cities  in  such  places 
as  these.  And  in  Quebec  she  found  rest  and 
a  measure  of  contentment  in  the  novelty  of 
scene  and  atmosphere.  She  and  Tom  drove 
upon  the  great  river  and  abroad  through  the 
surrounding  cou^^try  every  morning,  while  Mr. 
Gordon  attended  to  his  business. 

In  the  afternoons  all  three  drove  together, 
or  skated,  or  explored  the  old  French  quarters 
of  the  town. 

So  four  days  passed,  and  by  the  end  of  that 
time  Mr.  Gordon  was  through  with  his  business. 

It  was  just  twelve  o'clcck  noon  of  the  fourth 
day  when  he  concluded  the  sale  of  a  block  of 
land  and  tucked  the  check  away  in  his  pocket- 


n 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN      181 

book.  He  went  out  into  the  bright  street,  very 
well  satisfied  with  himself,  and  decided  to  hunt 
about  for  some  quiet  place  where  he  Lad  never 
lunched  before  and  could  now  lunch  alone. 

He  had  sold  the  land  well  for  the  man  in  New 
York  who  owned  it,  and,  incidentally,  very  well 
for  himself.  He  paused  on  the  sunlit  pavercmt, 
breathing  deep  of  the  frosty  air,  and  gb  Ang 
down  the  street.  He  had  heard  of  a  jiall 
French  hotel  down  there,  where  the  cooking  wao 
done  by  a  plump  gentleman  who  had  refused 
offers  to  manage  the  kit'^hens  and  ranges  of  a 
dozen  great  hotels.    So  L-.,  had  been  told. 

Was  it  three  blocks  down  the  hill,  or  only 
two?  He  would  go  back  into  the  office  he  had 
just  .ft  and  inquire.  He  turned  to  do  so,  and 
came  face  to  face  with  Captain  Walter  Joice. 

"Joice !  Bless  my  soul  I  What  are  you  doing 
in  Quebec?"  he  exclaimed  heartily,  pulling 
off  a  fur-lined  glove  and  thrusting  out  his 
hand. 

The  Englishman  had  a  book  under  hi*-,  left 
arm.  In  his  astonishment  he  dropped  it  He 
grasped  Gordon's  hand,  then  stoued  ai. !  re- 
covered the  book. 

"I  didn't  expect  to  find  you  here,  Mr.  Gor- 
don," he  said. 

"Came  on  business,"  replied  Gordon.  "Sold 
some  timber-lands  for  a  friend  of  mine  to  an 
Ei.glish  concern.     My  son  and  daughter  are 


182       TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

with  me.    Am  on  my  way  to  lunch  now.    Come 

nlonsr " 

"Come  with  me,"  said  Joice.  «I  have  been 
here  before,  and  know  the  places  to  eat." 

They  walked  down  the  street  together.  Gor- 
don glanced  keenly  at  his  companion. 

"You  are  not  looking  very  fit,"  he  said.  Then 
he  reddened.  "I  have  been  wondering  where 
you  had  gone  to.  So  you  have  been  here  m 
Quebec  all  the  time!     Well,  it  is  a    pleasant 

little  city." 

"I  have  been  in  England,"  said  Joice.  "I 
only  arrived  here  yesterday.  I— I  bave  seen 
the  New  York  papers.  May  I  ask  if  there  is 
any  truth  in  their  story— about— your  daugh- 
ter." 

"It  is  a  blind,"  replied  Gordon.  "We  have 
heard  nothing  of  Westley,  and  she  has  not  given 
him  up.  But  her  position  in  town  became  un- 
bearable. I  hope,  Joice,  that— that  things  are 
well  with  you." 

"Thanks,  I  have  been  enjoying  myself  more 
or  less,"  replied  Joice.  "That  is,  I  have  been 
busy— with  family  matters." 

They  found  the  French  hotel,  but  the  meal 
was  not  a  cheerful  one. 

Neither  of  the  men  felt  at  his  ease.  They 
tried  to  make  talk  of  things  of  which  they  were 
not  thinking.  They  parted  at  the  door  of  the 
hotel. 


TWO    SHALL   BE    BORN      183 

Mr.  Gordon  gave  his  address  and  asked  Joice 
to  call.  Joice  replied,  somewhat  uncertainly, 
that  he  would  try  to  call  next  day.  Then  each 
went  on  his  separate  way.  Mr.  Gordon  felt 
depressed. 

Joice  went  straight  to  his  room  in  the  quiet 
hotel  where  he  was  staying,  threw  off  his  over- 
coat, and  sat  down  with  the  hook  which  he  had 
been  carrying.  It  was  a  new  hook,  and  a 
work  of  fiction.  The  first  page  of  the  first 
chapter  had  caught  his  eye  in  a  book-shop. 
Now  he  read  the  entire  chapter  with  care,  slowly 
and  eagerly. 

"It  is  the  same,"  he  said.  "It  is  ihe  beginning 
of  one  of  the  yams  poor  old  Dick  used  to  tell. 
Dick  had  pr  mise.  I  wonder  what  it  means? 
And  who  the  deuce  is  Donald  Grant!" 


.i: 


CHAPTER   XIII 


DAVID   FINDS   A   DOCTOR 

Walter  Joice  did  not  go  to  bed  until  past 
mioaight,  for  he  was  a  slow  reader.  There 
were  certain  chapters  of  this  new  book,  which 
had  excited  his  curiosity  so,  which  he  read  three 
times  over. 

"It  is  Dick's  story,"  he  said.  "Whole  scenes 
of  it  are  just  as  Dick  used  to  tell  it  at  school. 
No  two  men  could  happen  upon  the  same  ideas 
like  that. 

"But  Dick  is  dead,  poor  chap,  and  buried 
along  with  twenty  others.  I  was  in  command 
of  the  firing  party  that  pulled  off  the  three 
rounds  over  the  trench.  But  this  is  one  of 
Dick's  stories.  I  suppose  one  of  the  other  fel- 
lows who  heard  him  tell  it  has  written  it.  A 
dashed  low  thing  to  do!  Donald  Grant!  I 
should  like  to  have  a  few  words  with  this  Mr. 
Donald  Grant,  whoever  he  is." 

So  he  wrote  to  the  publishers  of  the  book, 
requesting  the  address  of  Mr.  Donald  Grant. 

"Poor  old  Dick,"  he  reflected.  "Here  I've 
just  come  in  for  a  bunch  of  money  which  would 
have  been  his  if  he  had  lived,  and  here  is  this 

184 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN      185 


¥ 


fellow  Grant  getting  away  with  his  literary 
fame." 

He  decided  not  to  call  upon  the  Gordons,  but 
he  wrote  a  note  to  Dorothy.  All  he  said  in  the 
note  was:  "I  have  heard  nothing  of  David 
Westley.  Business  took  me  home,  but  now  I 
mean  to  look  for  David  in  earnest." 

That  was  all.  Dorothy  felt  very  miserable 
and  guilty  after  reading  it. 

Mr.  Gordon  grew  suddenly  tired  of  Quebec. 
His  pity  for  Joice  was  the  cause  of  this.  He 
had  done  his  best  to  put  heart  and  hope  in  the 
Englishman,  months  ago,  in  New  York,  and 
now  he  had  deserted  the  honest  fellow's  cause. 

But  what  else  could  he  dot  Joice's  cause  was 
hopeless.  Of  this  he  was  convinced.  He  had 
been  indiscreet  before,  and  now  he  felt  like  a 
traitor.  As  he  could  not  help  Joice  he  was 
anxious  to  get  away  from  him. 

So  he  remembered  some  property  which  he 
owned  several  hundred  miles  to  the  westward 
of  Quebec,  on  the  main  line  of  railway.  He 
had  never  seen  this  property,  and  had  never  felt 
any  particular  interest  in  it  before.  It  had  al- 
way  ranked  in  his  mind  as  one  of  his  mistakes. 

Yes,  even  John  Angus  Gordon  sometimes 
made  mistakes.  He  had  bought  this  property, 
ten  years  before,  from  a  young  man  whom  he 
liked  and  who  needed  the  money.  He  had 
remembered  it  once  a  year  since  then  when  he 


ii 


J    T 


186      TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 

had  paid  the  taxes  on  it  to  the  Canadian  Gov- 
ernment. He  decided  to  go  now  and  see  just 
how  badly  the  young  man  had  done  him  on  the 
deal. 

So  the  Gordons  packed  their  bags  and  boxes 
and  started  westward  from  Quebec. 


David  Westley  and  Gabe  Bear  went  forward 
toward  St.  Anne's  at  top  speed  along  the  beaten 
track.  Snow  fell  for  a  few  hours  on  the  sec- 
ond day,  and  the  skies  remained  threatening 
until  they  reached  the  village,  late  in  the  after- 
noon of  the  third  day.  Then  the  snow  came 
down  again,  silent  and  thick. 

The  two  went  straight  to  the  doctor's  house, 
but  the  doctor,  an  unworthy  member  of  a  worthy 
brotherhood,  was  in  no  condition  to  make  a 
journey  or  to  practise.  The  tide  of  riotousness 
that  had  flooded  into  the  village  with  the  lum- 
bermen had  swamped  the  doctor. 

It  seems  that  he  had  tried  to  collect  an  account 
— perhaps  a  fancied  account — from  one  of  those 
sons  of  the  wild,  and  now  he  lay  in  his  bed, 
with  his  head  in  bandages,  and  requested  all 
and  sundry  to  go  to  the  deuce  with  their  ail- 
ments. 

Westley  was  furious,  but  he  kept  himself  well 
in  hand.  After  examining  the  doctor,  in  spite 
of  that  gentleman's  protests,  he  had  to  admit 
that  the  poor  fellow  was  of  no  use  to  any  one. 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN      187 

He  hastened  to  the  owner  of  the  mill,   who 
was  also  the  sheriff  of  the  county. 

"Where  can  I  find  a  doctor!"  he  asked.  "I 
have  been  to  Jessop.  I  need  one  badly,  and  in 
a  hurry.  Jessop  is  trying  to  recover  from  a 
jag  and  a  fight." 

"Ask  me  something  easier,  Mr.  Westley,"  re- 
turned the  sheriff. 

"When  does  the  express  go  throu^Th  the  junc- 
tion!" asked  Westley. 

"West-bound  at  nine  o'clock  to-night,  if  she's 
on  time,  and  east-bound  at  twelve-thirty.  The 
chances  are  that  they'll  both  be  late.  A  lot  of 
snow  is  falling,  and  this  road  is  a  bad  one  for 
drifts." 

Westley  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  six 
o'clock. 

"You  have  a  telephone  to  Musquash,  I  think," 
he  said. 

"Yes,"  replied  Brown.  "Sixty-five  miles  of 
good  line,  if  it  isn't  down  anywhere.  The  men 
haven't  been  over  it  this  week,  I  guess.  I  look 
after  the  five  miles  between  here  and  the  junc- 
tion. What  are  you  thinking  of  doing,  Mr. 
Westley!" 

"Does  the  wpst-bound  stop  at  Musquas!:!" 

"Yes,  for  fifteen  minutes,  if  she  don't  happen 
to  be  in  any  particular  hurry.  You  won't  find 
a  doctor  at  Musquash." 

"But  there  may  be  one  on  the  train.    I  can 


¥ 


188      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

'phone  to  the  station-master  to  inquire,  and  if 
there  is  one,  to   ask  him  to  stop  off  at  the 
junction.     They'd  let  a  doctor  off,  I  suppose?" 
"Yes,  I  reckon  they'd  let  a  doctor  off  if  he 
had  the  nerve  to  make  them.    And  the  chances 
are  good  that  there'd  be  a  doctor  aboard  her. 
There  are  a  heap  of  doctors  in  the  world,  and 
a  good  many  of  them  on  the  move,  heading  west- 
ward.   Who's  sick  up  your  way,  anyhow  1" 
"A  friend  of  mine." 
"What,  the  factor!" 

"No,  a  young  fellow  called  Pierre  MacKim." 
"Heavens!    A  half-breed!" 
"Even  so,  Sheriff  Brown.  I  think  I  mentioned 
the  fact  that  he  is  a  friend  of  mine.     I  hope 
you  have  no  objections." 

"You'd  better  come  into  the  office  now,  Mr. 
Westley,  and  try  the  line,"  said  Brown  hastily. 
Westley   tried  the   line.     He  could   not   a^et 
a  reply  from  Musquash. 
"Down  somewheres,  I  guess,"  said  Brown. 
Westley  swore  softly,  and  muttered  something 
concerning  telephone  wires  that  are  allowed  to 
get  out  of  order  which  Sheriff  Brown  was  wise 
enough  to  pretend  not  to  hear.    Brown  was  not 
as  courageous  as,  sheriffs   are  popularly  sup- 
posed to  be. 

"You  can  send  a  telegram,  Mr.  Westley,"  he 
said  soothingly.  "You  can  drive  out  to  the 
junction  and  get  the  operator  there — Jones  by 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN       189 


name — to  get  into  communication  with  Mus- 
quash. I'll  lend  you  a  horse  and  pung.  The 
road  will  he  a  hit  heavy  with  this  snow,  but 
it  has  a  good  bottom.  I  was  hauling  over  it 
last  week." 

Westley  accepted  the  mill-owner's  offer,  and 
without  waiting  for  anything  to  eat,  set  out 
along  the  fiva  miles  of  hauling-road  for  the 
jo-called  junction. 

Sunpoke  Junction  was  no  longer  a  real  junc- 
tion of  railroads.  At  one  time,  years  ago,  a 
couple  of  short  spurs  had  been  run  into  the 
wilderness  from  the  main  line  at  this  point, 
for  lumbering  purposes. 

These  spurs  ^ad  tapped  a  couple  cf  pine  belts, 
and  when  the  pine  had  been  hauled  out  the 
rails  and  ties  had  been  allowed  to  rust,  and  rot, 
and  crumble  back  to  wilderness  stuff. 

Now  the  junction  was  nothing  more  than  a 
siding  used  by  Brown  for  his  sawn  lunber,  a 
water-tank  sometimes  used  by  freight-trains,  a 
jumping-off  place  for  moose-hunters,  timber- 
cruisers,  and  the  like,  and  a  small,  red  shack 
in  which  Mr.  Jones  spent  a  dreary  existence 
with  his  crackling  instruments,  his  chewing- 
tobacco,  his  dog,  his  cat,  and  his  dreams  of 
some  day  being  transferred  to  some  other  field 
of  activity. 

Westley  drove  out  alone  through  the  snow 
and  dark,  with  a  stable  lantern  lashed  to  the 


190      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

dashboard  of  the  pung.  The  road  was  heavy 
with  new-fallen  snow,  but  sound  at  the  bottom. 
It  led  through  a  desolate  waste  of  swamp,  of 
lands  scarred  by  ax  and  fire,  of  rotten  stumps 
and  bleached  "windfalls,"  all  shrouded  in  snow. 
No  gleam  of  lamp-lit  windows  broke  the  night 
along  that  way.    It  was  dead-land— a  no-man's 

land. 

Westley  hunched  himself  in  his  great  coat  of 
coon  skins  and  tickled  the  sheriff's  horse  into 
a  galloping  trot.  The  horse,  like  the  road,  was 
heavy,  but  sound. 

Beside  the  telegraph-operator's  shack  was  an 
open  freight-shed  in  which  provisions  and 
goods  for  the  village  of  St.  Anne's  sometimes 
rested  overnight.  In  this  shed  Westley  hitched 
the  horse,  blanketing  him  without  taking  him 
from  the  shafts  of  the  pung. 

Then  he  went  to  the  door  of  the  shack  and 
thumped  upon  it  with  his  fur-clad  knuckles. 
Dogs  barked  within,  and  Mr.  Jones  opened 
the  door  cautiously. 

This  Jones  was  a  -^ale  young  man  with  long, 
agile  fingers,  and  a  toothful  of  tobacco  in  his 
left  cheek.  Behind  him  a  couple  of  dogs  barked 
and  jumped  about,  three  cats  arched  their 
backs,  and  the  telegraph  instruments  on  the 
table  at  the  head  of  the  bunk  crackled  busily. 
Westley  stepped  inside,  a  daunting  figure  in  his 
bulky  furs.    Jones  retreated  before  him. 


TWO   SHALL   BE    BORN      191 


'  i 


I  U 


"My  name  is  Westley,"  he  said,  pulling  off 
his  cap.  Then  he  stated  his  ease.  Jones  fell 
into  a  flutter  of  excitement.  It  takes  very  little 
to  excite  a  man  who  lives  at  Sunpoke  Junction. 
He  wanted  to  help  Westley  off  with  his  coat. 

"Never  mind  me,"  said  Westley.  "Get  Mus- 
quash." 

"Oh,  I  forgot,"  replied  Jones  nervously. 
"The  express  left  Musquash  ten  minutes  ago. 
Say,  that's  too  bad,  Mr.  Westley.  I  don't 
know  if  there  was  a  doctor  aboard  her  or  not. 
She  was  sharp  on  time.  Likely  there  would 
be  a  doctor — maybe  more  than  one." 

"The  deuce,"  exclaimed  Wes*ley.  "Confound 
that  horse  of  Brown's.  Then  there  is  nothing 
for  me  to  do  but  stop  the  train." 

He  glanced  at  the  clock  on  the  table,  then 
threw  off  his  coat,  and  produced  his  cigarette- 
case. 

"Surely  you're  jokin',  Mr.  Westley,"  said 
Jones  anxiously.  "Why,  it's  against  the  law 
to  stop  the  express  for — for  a  private  matter. 
That's  the  truth,  sir.  If  it  was  yourself  ne  ?ded 
the  doctor— But  to  hold  up  the  express  for 
Pierre   MacKim!     Say,   there'd   be   a   row!" 

Westley  offered  him  the  open  case,  and  he 
accepted  a  fat  Turkish  cigarette  with  an  air 
of  flattered  selt-consciousness  which  the  New 
Yorker  would  have  found  amusing  if  he  had 
noticed  it. 


m 


192      TWO    SHALL    BE   BORN 

But  he  did  not  notice  it.  He  was  thinking 
of  Pierre  MacKim,  away  back  in  the  little  cabin 
at  Two  Moose,  on  Smoky  River.  Pierre  needed 
a  doctor— unless  he  was  already  everlastingly 
past  the  need  of  one— and  a  doctor  he  should 
have.  He  lit  a  cigarette  and  for  half  a  min- 
ute smoked  reflectively.  He  glanced  up  sud- 
denly at  Jones. 

"What  have  you  to  eat?"  he  asked.  "I  am 
hungry." 

Jones  stirred  up  the  fire  in  the  sheet-iron 
stove,  filled  the  kettle  with  fresh  water,  and 
put  on  the  frying-pan.  Westley  watched  him, 
unseeingly.  When  the  fried  ham  and  tea  were 
ready  he  ate  and  drank  heartily  and  thank- 
fully.    Then  he  donned  his  fur  cap  and  coat. 

"Where  are  you  going,  Mr.  Westley?"  asked 
Jones  suspiciously. 

"I  suppose  I  may  as  well  start  back  for  St. 
Anne's,"  replied  the  other.  "I  don't  see  much 
object  ill  staying  here." 

Jones  eyed  him  respectf'-   7  and  doubtfully. 

"I  hope  you're  not  still  thinkin'  of  holdin'  up 
the  train,  sir,"  he  said.  "That  would  be  against 
the  law,  Mr.  Westley,  and  they'd  make  you  pay 
for  it— the  road  would.  And  you  see,  Mr.  West- 
ley,  as  an  official  of  the  road,  it  would  be  my 
duty  to  stop  you  if  you  tried  to  do  it— by  force, 
Mr.  Westley,  if  need  be." 

He  looked  nervous  and  uncomfortable  as  he 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN      198 


made  this  statement.  The  big  man  from  Smoky 
River  smiled  kindly  at  Mr.  Jones's  pale  face, 
slight  frame,  and  narrow  shoulders. 

"Do  I  look  like  a  law-breaker?"  he  queried. 
"After  all,  as  you  say,  Pierre  MacKim  is  only 
a  half-breed.  So  I  may  as  well  get  along. 
Many  thanks  for  the  supper.  We'll  meet  again, 
I  hope." 

He  shook  hands  with  Jones,  took  up  his 
lighted  lantern  from  the  floor,  and  went  out. 
The  snow  was  still  falling  thickly.  He  went 
to  the  freight-shed,  loosed  the  horse  from  the 
shafts  so  that  it  could  lie  down  if  it  wanted 
to,  strapped  an  extra  rug  across  its  back,  and 
gave  it  a  feed  of  oats  from  a  bag  which  Brown 
had  put  into  the  pung. 

Then  he  extinguished  the  lantern,  and,  carry- 
ing it  in  his  hand,  he  left  the  shed  and  made 
his  way  cautiously  to  the  track  between  its 
plow-reared  banks  of  snow.  To  do  this  he 
gave  the  operator's  shack  a  wide  berth. 

Over  the  ties  and  the  rails  the  new  snow  lay 
about  five  inches  deep.  The  footing  beneath 
was  solid  and  smooth,  but  slippery.  Westley 
walked  eastward  at  a  brisk  pace. 

The  line,  with  its  high  walls  of  packed  snow, 
curved  sharply.  All  around  and  above  lay  the 
black  sky,  the  black  forests  white  barrens,  and 
burnt  lands.  All  was  wilderness,  as  God  had 
made  it  for  the  most  part ;  but  a  few  thousands 


ill 

li 


if 
I 

sir 


■Sjf 


r  t 

:!■■ 


194      TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 

of  acres  of  it  had  taken  on  an  added  desola- 
tion where  man  had  scarred  it. 

Mr.  Jones,  in  his  red  shack,  the  freight-shed 
and  the  black  bulk  of  the  water-tank  were  the 
nearest  things  that  stood  for  civilization.  But 
Westley  had  left  these  things  behind  him,  be- 
yond the  curve. 

He  halted  and  lit  his  lantern.  The  yellow 
light  swam  over  the  level  white  at  his  feet,  and 
up  the  white,  slanting  walls  on  either  hand.  He 
saw  fresh  imprints  in  the  snow  before  him — 
the  hoof -marks  of  two  running  de'^r. 

A  few  yards  farther  along  he  saw  where  the 
animals  had  left  the  trench  of  the  road  and 
jumped  the  bank  on  the  left.  They  had  broken 
a  wedge-shaped  hole  in  the  top  of  the  wall  of 
packed  snow,  and  kicked  a  heap  of  snow  back 
onto  the  track. 

"This  will  do  as  well  as  any  place,"  said 
Westley,  "and  T  think  it  is  far  enough  away 
from  Mr.  Jones  to  be  safe." 

He  scrambled  heavily  up  the  way  the  deer 
had  jumped.  He  found  himself  in  a  thicket 
of  spruces  and  young  birches.  Plunging  hero 
and  there  in  the  snow,  waist-deep,  he  gathered 
rolls  of  birch  bark  and  branches  of  spruce  and 
fir.  It  was  hard  work.  At  last  he  slid  back  to 
the  track,  breathless,  with  the  bark  and  branches 
clutched  to  his  breast. 

He  brought  down  about  Ji.iif  a  ton  of  caked 


TWO   SHALL    BE    BORN      195 

snow  with  him.  He  heaped  the  bark  and 
branches  in  the  middle  of  the  track,  at  a  point 
about  fifteen  yards  to  the  east  of  the  breech 
which  he  and  the  jumping  deer  had  made  in 
the  wall. 

"Its  just  as  well  to  leave  a  way  of  retreat 
wide  open  in  case  my  signal  does  not  stop 
the  train,"  he  said. 

Then  he  went  back  to  the  woods  and  gathered 
more  brush.  After  arranging  the  brush  and 
bark  so  that  it  would  spring  into  flame  in  an 
instant,  he  set  the  lantern  down,  squatted  be- 
side it,  dug  out  his  pipe  and  tobacco,  and  began 
to  smoke. 

The  snow  was  still  falling  thickly  and  softly. 
The  wilderness  was  as  silent  as  death.  West- 
ley  looked  at  his  watch  in  the  lantern  light, 
then  listened  for  a  sound  to  the  eastward  with 
straining  ears.  He  began  to  feel  a  slight  un- 
easiness—a dryness  of  tongue  and  throat,  and 
a  consciousness  of  the  thumping  of  his  heart. 

After  all,  this  stopping  of  an  express  train 
in  the  dark  and  the  wilderness,  in  the  middle  of 
nowhere,  full-flighted  for  the  great  West,  with 
its  freight  of  men  and  women,  its  snug  parlor- 
cars  and  Pullmans,  its  kitchens  and  dining 
rooms,  and  crowded  colonist  cars,  might  be  a 
mptter  of  some  boriousness. 

It  would  likely  be  something  more  than  a 
joke,  anyway.    To  give  himself  courage,  West- 


1    II 


ac 


ii5^^ 


196      TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 

ley  pictured  Pierre.  He  unfastened  his  outer 
coat,  and  drew  forth  a  fat  wallet.  From  this 
he  produced  and  counted  a  number  of  Canadian 
bank  bills.  He  made  up  two  wads  of  these, 
and  placed  one  in  the  right-hand  pocket  of  his 
fur  coat,  and  the  other  in  the  left-hand  pocket. 

"These  are  the  only  weapons  I  can  use  in 
this  case,"  he  reflected,  "and  I  think  no  others 
would  prove  so  effective." 

Presently  he  heard  a  sound,  a  large,  vague 
sound,  far  away. 

"She's  coming,"  he  said.  "If  she  carries  a 
doctor  Pierre  will  have  the  benefit  of  his  knowl- 
edge—if the  poor  chap  is  still  alive.  Well, 
here  goes." 

Again  he  felt  the  dryness  of  mouth  and 
throat,  and  the  thumping  of  his  heart.  He 
had  faced  real  and  outlandish  dangers  without 
these  sensations ;  but  never  before  had  he  even 
contemplated  the  holding-up  of  an  express 
train  in  the  middle  of  the  wilderness  and  the 

night. 

Danger  he  did  not  fear — and  in  this  ad- 
venture there  would  be  no  physical  risk — but 
it  smacked  to  him  something  of  kicking  up  a 
disturbance  in  a  city  street. 

It  was  lawless,  both  in  letter  and  spirit.  And 
it  contained  a  decided  risk  of  publicity— and 
publicity  was  a  thing  that  he  had  a  poor  conceit 


^^ 


fm 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN      197 

of.  But  the  big,  vague  sound  was  gathering 
and  growing  on  the  night. 

He  struck  a  match,  stooped  and  held  it  to 
the  edge  of  a  roll  of  dry  bark  at  the  bottom 
of  the  pile  of  brush.  The  little,  yellow  flame 
hung  smokily  on  the  edge  of  the  bark  for  a 
moment,  then  crawled  upward  and  inward  with 
an  air  of  assurance,  and  set  the  green  spruce 
crackling  and  roaring. 

Flames  brust  forth  on  all  sides,  and  red 
sparks  puffed  aloft,  and  sailed  among  the  de- 
scending snow  flakes.  Red  shadows  wavered 
and  spread  along  the  white  track  and  up  the 
white  walls.  Westley  stepped  back,  lantern 
in  hand,  turned  and  stared  eastward.  An 
illumination,  like  a  white  shadow,  grew  up  upon 
the  blackness  far  down  the  trench  of  the  straight 
track. 

The  fire  was  a  great  cone  of  red  coals,  topped 
by  thin,  yellow  flames,  by  the  time  the  great 
engine  came  to  a  protesting  halt  within  ten 
yards  of  it.  As  Westley  sprang  up  the  steps 
of  one  car,  the  conductor  of  the  train  sprang 
down  into  the  snow  from  the  steps  of  another. 
Westley  found  that  he  had  happened  upon  the 
highly  polished  and  heavily  upholstered  smoke 
room  in  the  end  of  a  Pullman.  This  was  what 
he  wanted. 

He  pushed  along  the  narrow  corridor,  still 


I' 


J. 


198      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

with  his  lantern  in  his  hand,  and  pulled  aside 
the  heavy  curtains  which  hung  across  the  door- 
way of  the  smoker.  Early  as  it  was,  most  of 
the  passengers  of  the  car  had  retired  to  their 
berths.  Five  men  sat  in  the  smoker,  in  blue 
haze  of  tobacco-smoke.  Their  eyes  were  upon 
him  with  looks  of  startled  intentness,  and  their 
cigars  were  in  their  hands.  Westley's  glance 
was  swift  from  face  to  face.  He  knew  none 
of  them. 
"Is  there  a  doctor  in  this  car?"  he  asked. 
Four  continued  to  starr,  but  one  nodded,  un- 
crossed his  legs,  and  sat  up  alertly.  Westley 
noted  this,  and  stepped  forward. 

"I  have  a  case  for  you,  doctor,"  he  said, 
earnestly.  "Please  get  your  bag— what  you 
need — and  come  along  with  me.  I  am  in  a 
hurry,  as  you  may  imagine." 

"That  sounds  in  my  line,"  replied  the  doc- 
tor, who  was  a  young  man  with  a  frank  and 
pleasing  face ;  "but  what  is  the  case,  and  where 
are  we?" 

"We  are  at  a  place  called  Sunpoke  June- 
don,"  replied  Westley,  "and  the  case  is  a 
serious  one — and  is  away  back  in  the  woods 
from  here." 

"Huh!"   exclaimed   one   of  the  others.   "Do 
you  expect  the  doctor  to  lose  his  train— his  trip 
westward— for  some  bush-whacker's  bellyache?" 
Westley  slanted  a  cold  eye  at  the  speaker. 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 


199 


"I  am  talking  to  you,  doctor,"  he  said.  "A 
friend  of  mine  is  sick,  away  back  in  the  woods. 
The  case  will  be  well  worth  your  while,  even 
if  it  is  too  late  to  pull  the  poor  chap  through. 
If  you  are  alone  on  the  train,  please  get  your 
bags  and  hurry  up." 
"Yes,  I'm  alone,"  said  the  doctor. 
"Westley  turned,  stepped  into  the  corridor 
and  moved  along  it  to  the  door  of  the  sleeping- 
car.  The  doctor  threw  away  his  cigar  and 
followed  him. 

They  entered  the  sleeper  together,  between 
the  walls  of  curtained  beds.  They  were  faced 
by  a  black  porter,  to  whom  they  paid  no  at- 
tention at  the  moment. 

"This  is  my  bed,"  said  the  doctor.  "My  bag 
is  here;  but  my  trunk  is  in  the  baggage  car." 
He  looked  doubtfully  at  Westley.  David 
pulled  a  wad  of  bills  from  a  pocket  of  his  fur 
coat,  and  gazed  at  it  reflectively.  The  young 
doctor  and  the  porter  also  gazed  at  the  bills. 
"Never  mind  your  trunk,"  said  Westley. 
"Hurry  up,  for  Heaven's  sake  I" 


J  I, 


'  *i 


CHAPTER  XIV 

WHO    RETURNS    TO    TWO    MOOSE 

"This  is  an  unusual  thing,"  said  the  young 
doctor.  "If  I  go  into  the  woods  with  you  it  will 
mean  the  upsetting  of  all  my  plans,  and  perhaps 
the  loss  of  my  baggage." 

Westley  pressed  two  yellowbacked  bills  into 

his  hand. 

"I  am  acting  in  good  faith,"  he  said.  "Please 
accept  this  on  account.  Now  hurry  up,  for 
Heaven's  sake!  The  train  may  go  on  at  any 
moment.    It  is  a  matter  of  life  and  death." 

The  doctor  plunged  his  head  between  the  cur- 
tains and  began  to  pack  his  bag  with  frantic 
haste.    Westley  turned  to  the  porter. 

"Sorry  to  disturb  you,"  he  said.  "I  hope  I 
have  not  awakened  any  of  your  passengers." 

He  slipped  something  into  the  man's  hand. 
Then  he  walked  back  to  the  smoker,  and  in  the 
curtained  doorway  was  met  by  the  fuming  con- 
ductor and  a  brakeman  or  two. 

"Ho!"  exclaimed  the  conductor.  "I  guess 
you  are  the  feller  I'm  lookin'  for.  Say,  is  that 
right?"    He  put  out  a  hand  and  gripped  the 

900 


J- -Li.     JJJJfflSflHflW 


^"^ 


S^^^Tw 


TWO    SHALL   BE    BORN      201 


front  of  Westley's  coon-skin  coat.  "Is  that 
right?  Are  you  the  ignorant,  gum-heeled  bush- 
whacker who  built  a  fire  in  the  middle  of  the 
track  an'  stopped  this  train?" 

"I  stopped  the  train,"  said  Westley,  keeping 
his  temper  admirably. 

"You  did,  did  you?"  cried  the  other  furiously. 
"That's  what  you  consider  a  joke  in  these  parts, 
I  suppose.  You  won't  think  it  such  a  joke 
when  I  hand  you  over  to  the  police  at  the  next 
town.  I  have  a  mind  to  plug  you  now,  you  big 
dub  I" 

At  that  moment  the  doctor  appeared. 

"I  didn't  stop  your  train  for  fun,"  said  West- 
ley.    "I  needed  a  doctor — and  here  he  is." 

"You'll  need  a  doctor  worse  than  you  do  now 
before  I've  finished  with  you.  What's  your 
name?" 

"My  name  wouldn't  interest  you,"  replied 
Westley;  "but  this  will,  I  think.  It  will  repay 
you  for  your  twenty  minutes'  delay." 

He  produced  the  second  wad  of  bills  and 
passed  them  deftly  into  the  official's  hand.  The 
official's  small,  bright  lantern  flashed  upon  them 
for  an  instant.  His  mouth  opened,  his  eyes 
bulged. 

"Come  on,  doctor.  Good  night,  all,"  said 
Westley. 

Westley  and  the  young  doctor  jumped  and 
landed  firmly,  waist  deep,  in  the  snow-bank  be- 


mM!^^F-«WflW 


202      TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 

side  the  track.  The  l  3dical  gentleman  sank 
deeper  than  the  capitalist,  for  he  was  freighted 
with  a  fat  suit  case  and  the  heavy  leather  bag 
of  his  profesrion. 

Westley  had  only  the  lantern.  The  great 
train  rolled  forward,  its  plow  scattering  and 
quenching  the  red  coals  and  thin  flames  of  the 
subsided  fire. 

And  in  one  of  the  soft,  curtained  beds  of  that 
same  car  from  which  Westley  had  brought  the 
doctor,  Dorothy  Gordon  sighed  and  lowered  her 
head  again  to  the  pillow.  So  it  had  been  noth- 
ing but  a  dream,  after  all — a  trick  of  the  heart 
upon  the  brain  in  that  happy,  foolish  stage  half- 
way between  sleeping  and  waking. 

Something,  perhaps  the  stopping  of  the  train, 
had  disturbed  her  slumber.  In  the  half-dream 
that  followed  she  had  heard  swift  footsteps 
along  the  center  of  the  car,  and  felt  an  air 
of  suspense  and  excitement. 

And  presently  she  had  heard  voices — and  then 
a  voice  she  knew  saying,  "Hurry  up,  for 
Heaven's  sake !"  She  had  continued  to  lie  witb 
her  eyes  closed,  more  asleep  than  awake,  until 
another  voice — that  of  the  night  porter — ^had 
muttered  close  beside  the  curtain  of  her  bed, 
"Bless  mah  soul,  he  give  me  twenty  doUahs!" 

Then  she  had  opened  her  eyes  and  sat  up  in 
her  berth.    So  the  first  voice  had  been  nothing 


■'•i- ■-■  •:;i'*'i 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN      203 


s 


i 


but  a  trick  of  dream.  She  heard  voices  whis- 
pering up  and  down  the  car:  "Why  have  we 
stopped  here?    What  is  the  trouble  1" 

She  heard  her  brother  questioning  the  porter, 
and  the  porter's  reply  that  a  big  bushman  had 
stopped  the  train  in  the  middle  of  nowhere  and 
come  aboard  for  a  doctor.  Oh,  yes,  he  got 
what  he  wanted. 

Then  the  train  jerked  heavily  and  moved  for- 
ward. Dorothy's  shade  was  up.  For  a  second 
she  saw,  by  the  light  of  a  stable  lantern  out-, 
side,  two  figures  against  the  high,  sloping  wall 
of  snow  beside  the  track.  One  figure,  that  of 
the  man  who  held  the  lantern,  was  big,  wild, 
and  in  keeping  with  the  wild  and  dreary  back- 
ground. 

The  yellow  light  shone  upon  the  long  fur  of 
his  great  coat,  and  threw  his  shadow  behind  him 
as  big  as  a  moose. 

She  had  seen  hundreds  of  such  coats  in  the 
country  around  Quebec.  Lumber  operators 
wore  them,  and  country  doctors,  and  rich 
farmers.    So  it  had  been  nothing  but  a  dream ! 

The  train  rolled  on,  gathering  headway.  She 
heard  Tom's  voice  say:  "Well,  he  had  his 
nerve  with  him.  But  I  am  glad  he  got  the  doc- 
tor. I  like  a  man  who  is  big  enough  to  get 
what  he  wants — even  if  he  has  to  stop  a  train 
for  it." 

Then  Dorothy  lay  back  upon  her  pillows  and 


204      TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 

tried  to  recapture  her  broken  slumber.  But 
this  she  could  not  do  immediately.  There 
seemed  to  be  a  tingle  of  excitement  in  the 
air  of  the  now  silent  car.  The  voice  that  had 
said,  "Hurry  up,  for  Heaven's  sake!"  continued 
to  ring  in  her  mind. 

So  she  lay  wide-eyed  for  an  hour  before  sleep 
returned  to  her. 

David  Westley,  blissfully  unconscious  of  the 
proximity  of  the  girl  whose  disloyalty  had 
driven  him,  in  bitternes  of  spirit,  away  from 
his  old  life  and  his  old  haunts  clean  up  into 
the  Smoky  River  country,  stood  waist  deep 
in  the  snow-bank  and  gazed  after  the  rear 
lights  of  the  express  until  they  vanished  in 
the  darkness  to  the  westward. 

The  voice  of  the  doctor  brought  him  back  to 
the  business  in  hand ;  for  the  +rain  had  touched 
him  to  dreams  and  a  twinge  of  covert  desire 
for  the  old  life  of  men  and  cities. 

"Where  is  the  patient?"  queried  the  doctor. 

"A  long  way  from  here,  I  am  sorry  to  say," 
replied  Westley,  extricating  himself  from^^the 
hole  in  the  snow  and  then  giving  a  hand  to 
the  doctor. 

Then  he  took  one  of  the  bags  from  his  com- 
panion, and  they  started  along  the  track  toward 
Sunpoke  Junction.  The  snow  was  still  falling 
softly  and  silently.    They  went  to  the  freight- 


•^R^^"ff^^"^fl^"IF 


R*?T 


^wn 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN      205 

shed,  Westley  leading  the  way.  They  pulled  the 
puDg  outside,  led  out  the  horse,  took  off  his 
rug  and  blanket,  and  hitched  him  between  the 
shafts. 

They  made  considerable  noise  about  all  this, 
and  the  lantern  flashed  busily.  They  had  taken 
their  seats  in  the  pung  and  tucked  the  robes 
about  them,  when  the  door  of  the  red  shack 
opened  and  Mr.  Jones  looked  out. 

"That  you,  Mr.  Westley?"  he  asked.  "I 
thought  you  had  started  back  for  St.  Anne's 
long  ago.  What  have  you  been  doing  out  there 
all  this  time!  Why  didn't  you  come  back  in 
and  sit  by  my  fire?" 

"I  was  getting  the  doctor,"  replied  Westley. 
"I  have  him  here." 

"The  doctor!"  exclaimed  Jones.  He  left  the 
shack  and  walked  over  to  the  pung,  "Well, 
I'll  be  jiggered!"  he  continued, 

"Yes,  I  guess  it's  a  doctor,  sure  enough — if 
you  say  so,  Mr,  Westley.  But  where  did  you 
get  him  from?" 

"I  don't  think  you'll  hear  anything  about  it 
from  the  railroad,"  answered  Westley,  "for  I 
think  the  conductor  will  keep  it  quiet.  But  if 
any  one  asks  you  any  questions,  you'll  oblige 
me  greatly  by  keeping  my  name  to  yourself, 
Mr.  Jones. 

"The  conductor  of  the  train  asked  me  for  my 
name;  but   I   gave  him    something  which   in- 


1 


13    K 


r. 


206      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

terested  him  more.  May  I  count  on  your 
silence — and  your  friendship.  I  don't  want  the 
thing  to  get  into  the  papers,  you  kL.ow." 

"So  you  stopped  the  express?  And  squared 
the  conductor?"  cried  Jones. 

"I  knew  you  could  do  it  if  you  set  yourself 
to  it,  Mr.  Westley.  Yes,  sir,  you  can  count 
on  me." 

Then  Westley  whipped  up  the  big  horse.  The 
heavy  five  miles  to  the  village  were  covered  for 
the  most  part  in  silence.  It  was  close  upon 
eleven  o'clock  when  Westley  handed  the  sweat- 
ing horse  over  to  Brown's  stable-boy.  He 
tipped  the  boy  generously,  told  him  to  dry  the 
horse  thoroughly  before  blanketing  him,  and 
then  to  go  and  find  Gabe  Bear  and  tell  that 
worthy  to  hurry  to  the  store,  with  his  pacK 
all  ready  on  his  shoulders. 

Then  Westley  got  the  keeper  of  the  mill- 
store  out  of  his  bed,  bought  a  p^* "  of  snow- 
shoes,  moccasins,  many  pairs  of  v^olen  stock- 
ings, a  blanket  coat  lined  with  sheep  skin,  a 
fur  cap  and  gloves,  and  a  sleeping-bag — all 
for  the  doctor. 

The  doctor  accepted  all  in  a  dazed  manner. 
Gabe  appeared.  A  few  additions  to  the  "grub- 
bag"  were  made. 

It  was  one  o'clock — one  hour  past  midnight 
— when  the  three  set  out  on  that  long,  wide 
trail  which  led,  by  snowy  river  and  drifted 
portage,  to  the  si  k  half-breed  at  Two  Moose. 


^^'5^^ 


TWO    ilHALL   BE    BORN      207 

"This  appears  to  be  quite  a  considerable 
undertaking,"  remarked  the  doctor.  "About 
how  much  farther  do     ^  have  to  go?" 

"Seventy  m''le8,  more  or  less,"  replied  West- 
ley.  '-I  am  sorry  it  is  so  far.  I  was  afraid 
to  tell  you  the  whole  truth  aboard  the  train.  I 
thought  you  might  funk  it." 

"I  was  looking  for  business,"  returned  the 
doctor  pluckily.  "It  is  fortunate  that  I  have 
walked  on  snowshoes  before.  I  am  a  Montreal 
man,  and  my  name  is  Francis  Dixon." 

"And  mir.i  is  David  Westley,"  said  the  big 
woodsman.  "I  am  engaged  in  lumbering  and 
that  sort  of  thing,  away  back  on  Smoky  River." 

"David  Westley,"  repeated  the  doctor.  "Do 
you  know,  Mr.  Westley,  I  was  reading  some- 
thing about  a  man  of  your  name  in  a  New  York 
paper,  ten  or  twelve  days  ago." 

"Is  that  so?  What  was  itf"  mquired  West- 
ley  calmly. 

"It  was  a  notice  of  the  termination  of  an 
engagement  of  marriage,  by  mutual  consent  of 
both  parties  concerned,"  answered  Dixon,  tramp- 
ing sturdily  forward  like  an  old  campaigner. 

"I  don't  think  I  ever  heard  of  the  peoiilo 
before,  though  I  imagine  they  figure  largely  in 
society  items.  There  was  something  novel 
about  this  thing  that  caused  it  to  stick  in  my 
mind. 

"The  woman  is  a  Miss  Gordon,  I  think,  and 
the  man's  name  is  the  same  as  your  own.    It 


m 


208      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

seems  that  the  man  is  such  a  keen  sportsman, 
and  the  girl  such  a  keen  society  person  that 
they  can't  manage  to  hit  it  off.  He  is  always 
knocking  about  in  the  \voods. 

"So  it  seems  that  they  have  agreed  to  dis- 
agree now  instead  of  later.  Very  wise  of 
them,  too,  I  think.  I  don't  take  much  stock 
in  such  items  of  news,  usually ;  but  it  all  popped 
back  into  my  mind  when  you  told  me  your 
nama.  Mr.  David  Westley,  of  something  or 
other  Fifth  A\  enue,  and  something  Park,  some- 
where in  the  countr>',  is  the  name  of  the  wise 
and   inconsiderate   young   man." 

"So  the  thing  was  mutual,  you  say?"  queried 
Westley. 

"So  the  paper  said.  It  sounded  to  me  as 
if  the  statement  had  been  made  by  her  peo- 
ple," responded  the  doctor. 

"Nothing  about  another  man,  I  suppose," 
queried  Westley. 

"Not  a  word;  but  I  suppose  there  is  another 
man  at  the  back  of  it  or  another  woman.  There 
usually   is,"  replied  Dixon. 

"I  imagine  there  is,"  said  Westley. 

They  pressed  forward  at  a  swinging  pace. 
The  snow  oased  to  fall  before  morning,  but 
the  wide  and  beaten  track  was  sticky  with  it. 

But  this  did  not  seem  to  bother  the  doctor, 
who  must  have  had  legs  of  wood  and  lungs  of 
leather. 


^* 


TV/O    SHALL    BE    BORN      209 


Camp  was  made  just  before  dawn,  and  they 
drank  tea  and  slept  for  three  hours.  They 
breakfasted  shortly  after  sunrisp,  lit  their  pipes 
and  sped  onward. 

Now  the  doctor  could  see  the  trail  which  they 
followed,  and  it  filled  him  with  astonishment. 
He  asked  questions  about  it,  and  Westley  told 
him  of  the  march  of  the  sixty  men  on  snow- 
shoes  and  of  the  seventy-mile  haul  of  a  saw- 
mill on  sleds,  by  band. 

The  doctor  was  delighted.  He  had  never 
heard  of  anything  to  equal  it.  He  regarded 
Westley  with  admiration  and  wonder. 

Westley,  the  doctor,  and  Gabe  Bear  made  a 
new  record  for  that  trip.  Dixon  and  Westley 
went  straight  to  the  latter's  shack  upon  reach- 
ing the  big  clearing  at  Two  Moose. 

It  was  late  at  night,  and  bitterly  cold,  with 
white  stars  shining  high  like  points  of  ice. 
But  the  interior  of  the  cabin  was  warm  enough, 
with  a  good  tire  burning  in  the  little  stove. 

A  shaded  lamp,  with  the  wick  turned  low, 
stood  on  a  corner  of  the  table.  Mr.  Duff  sat 
in  a  chair  with  his  shoulder  to  the  lamp,  sound 
asleep.  A  woman,  Rosie  MacKim,  knelt  beside 
the  bunk  on  the  farther  side  of  the  room. 

She  did  not  lift  her  head  at  the  opening 
of  the  door.  Sleep  had  claimed  her,  even  the 
mother,  after  those  nights  and  days  of  watch- 
ing. 


210      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

In  the  narrow  bunk  lay  Pierre,  alive,  awake, 
turning  his  head  from  side  to  side  on  the  pillow 
and  talking  continuously  in  a  babbling,  feeble 
voice. 

The  doctor  and  David  paused  on  the  thresh- 
old for  a  second  or  two,  inspecting  the  room 
with  quick  and  anxious  eyes.  The  doctor  was 
in  front.  He  nodded  his  head  and  stepped  for- 
ward.   David  followed  him  and  closed  the  door. 

The  doctor  slipped  his  pack  from  his  shoul- 
ders and  lowered  it  noiselessly  to  the  floor. 
Swiftly  and  silently  he  removed  his  outer 
coat,  his  gloves  and  fur  cap.  He  glanced 
at  the  bottles  that  stood  on  a  stool  beside  the 
bunk,  picking  up  two  of  them  and  sniffing 
them. 

"Right  enough,  as  far  as  they  go,"  he  mur- 
mured ;  "but  I  think,  by  the  look  of  things,  that 
we  must  resort  to  more  heroic  measures." 

He  bent  over  the  restless,  wide-eyed,  babbling 
man  in  the  bed,  laid  a  cool  hand  on  the  hot 
brow  and  over  the  bearded,  thin  face,  and  then 
dropped  his  fingers  to  one  of  the  fragile  wrists. 

"Not  much  need  of  a  thermometer  here,"  he 
said. 

David  looked  down  at  Pierre  over  the  doc- 
tor's shoulder. 

"Any  chance  for  him?"  he  asked,  quietly. 

"Chances  enough,"  replied  Dixon.  "He  is 
as  full  of  life  as  he  is  of  fever.    All  we  have 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN      211 

to  do  is  beat  the  fever.  But  we  irust  have 
the  room  to  ourselves  for  a  while." 

Westley  awoke  Duff  and  Rosie  MacKim. 

"The  mill  is  set  up,"  said  Duff.  "Days  at  the 
mill  an'  nights  at  nursings-  and  I'm  all  in.  I 
kept  right  on  soakin  ,  quinir.'j  to  him.  I 
couldn't  think  of  anythrg  (.'Ise.  W"  il,  I'm  glad 
you  got  a  doctor.  I'll  yi^'-  «a  home  now,  if 
you  don't  need  me,  and  try  the  feel  of  a  bed." 

The  woman  was  not  so  easily  sent  away;  but 
after  a  long  look  at  Dr.  Dixon's  clever  and 
kindly  young  face,  and  a  few  words  of  en- 
couragement from  David,  she  drew  her  shawl 
over  her  head  and  went  from  the  cabin. 

During  the  trip  in,  Westley  had  described  the 
case — all  that  he  knew  of  the  earlier  stages  of 
it — to  the  doctor.  Now  the  wound  was  ex- 
amined and  found  to  be  in  a  healthy  state  of 
healing.  It  was  redressed  and  bound,  with  a 
bandage  of  rubber  fastened  over  all. 

"The  fever  is  not  from  the  wound,"  said 
the  doctor.  "Now  for  all  the  blankets  you 
can  get  and  four  or  five  buckets  of  ice-water." 

Westley  piled  all  his  blankets  that  were  not 
in  the  bunk  on  the  floor,  then  snatched  up  a 
zinc  bucket,  opened  the  door  and  stepped  out- 
side, closing  the  door  behind  him.  A  figure 
crouched  beside  the  door.  It  was  Rosie  Mac- 
Kim. 

"The  doctor  needs  water,"  he  said,  "water 


f  'I 


J* 
it 


V!^mrfssiiiBs;sBS^^-r-mM* 


i^^^^'m^s^  '  ■¥»TMsnii^ii^"F«s»a»»'^  n^  me^rwuf^csK^Kr- 


212      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 


from  the  ice-hole.  Get  a  couple  of  buckets,  and 
somebody  to  help  you,  and  come  along." 

The  woman  obeyed  him  without  a  word. 
Westley  went  down  to  the  hole  in  the  river  and 
filled  his  bucket,  first  breaking  the  strong  skin 
of  ice  that  had  formed  since  the  folk  of  the 
post  had  drawn  out  their  water  for  their  sup- 
per tea-kettles. 

On  his  way  back  he  passed  two  figures  in 
the  path.  One  was  the  mother,  the  other  Marie 
Benoit.  The  girl  had  her  hood  about  her 
face  and  replied  to  his  brief  words  of  saluta- 
tion in  a  tremulous  whispe^. 

He  passed  on  and  entered  the  cabin,  where 
he  found  Dixon  stripped  to  his  shirt,  with  his 
collar  discarded  and  his  sleeves  rolled  up  to 
his  shoulders.  Westley  stood  his  bucket  on  the 
floor  and  went  out  again. 

He  met  the  women,  took  the  brimming  pails 
from  them  and  told  them  to  find  and  fill  four 
more  pails  and  leave  them  outside  the  door 
of  his  shack.  Then  he  returned  to  the  sick 
room  and  told  the  doctor  what  he  had  done. 

"We  can  begin  now,"  said  the  doctor.  "Lend 
me  a  hand  here." 

They  lifted  Pierre  from  the  bunk  to  a  bed 
of  folded  blankets  on  the  floor.  The  poor  fel- 
low still  babbled  and  turned  his  head  con- 
tinually from  side  to  side. 


■WW^iCTflP 


^mF 


^tm 


^r 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN       218 

"Hullo,  Westley,"  he  said,  staring  at  the 
doctor  with  wide   bright  eyes. 

"I  guess  we  make  the  post  afore  sundown, 
yes.  Then  you  see  my  girl,  Marie  Benoit— 
fines'  girl  in  this  country— fines'  girl  in  the 
whole  world,  maybe.  id  goin,'  what?  Too 
much  snow — too  much  woods — too  much  trail. 

"An'  hot,  Westley— hottem'  hades.  I  guess 
we  keep  right  along.  Steve  Canadian,  he  run 
away  with  that  girl  of  yours,  Westley— that  girl 
you  don't  tell  me  about.  We  catch  him,  you  bet 
— an'  kill  him,  maybe." 

The  doctor  looked  into  Westley's  set,  anxious 

face. 

"The  poor  chap  is  in  a  bad  way,"  he  said. 
"Burning  up;  but  we'll  cool  him.  Stand  that 
bucket  a  little  nearer,  will  you;  and  pass  me 
that  towel.    It  will  do  for  a  sponge." 

And  so  the  fight  began.  Westley  looked  on 
for  a  minute,  ther  got  more  towels  and  rolled 
up  his  own  sleeves.  The  sweat  stood  out  in 
glistening  drops  on  the  doctor's  forehead. 

"The  river,"  muttered  Pierre.  "We  come  to 
the  river — an'  the  ice  all  out.  We  got  to  swim 
it,  Westley.  I  see  Steve  Canadian  on  the  other 
side.    He  got  his  gun." 

Half  an  hour  later  they  rolled  him  in  dry 
blankets  and  lifted  him  back  to  the  bunk.  The 
doctor  took  his  temperature,  and  nodded. 


i  f| 


m 


mm 


■PHinp 


214       TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

"We  may  as  wpII  leave  this  mess  as  it  is," 
he  said,  pointing  to  the  wet  floor  and  the  soak- 
ing blankets,  "for  we'll  have  to  bathe  him  again 
in  about  an  hour.  Now  if  you  have  any  whisky 
handy  we'd  both  be  better  for  a  nip." 

Westley  went  to  the  place  wherein  he  kept 
his  store  of  whisky  and  the  liquor  which  he 
had  taken  from  the  factor.  It  was  empty. 
There  was  not  a  drop  in  the  shack.  He  won- 
dered if  Dominick  Benoit  had  taken  it — or  if 
the  factor  had  fallen  again? 

"One  minute,"  he  said,  pulling  on  his  coat. 
"I  have  to  go  over  to  the  store  and  get  a  bottle. 
I've  been  cleaned  out." 

He  found  the  two  women  near  the  door,  told 
them  that  Pierre  was  resting  quietly,  and  or- 
dered them  home.  Rosie  MacKim  snatched  up 
his  hand  and  pressed  her  lips  to  it.  Then 
the  two  women  went  away  quietly,  vanishing 
in  the  starlight. 

Westley  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  went 
straight  toward  the  factor's  house.  Light 
shone  from  the  windows  of  the  big  sitting-room. 
Westley  went  up  to  the  front  door  and  ham- 
mered upon  it.  It  was  soon  opened  by  the  fac- 
tor himself.  A  glance  told  David  that  Grant 
was  sober.  Grant  i)ut  out  his  hand  heartily  and 
drew  him  across  the  threshold. 

"I  heard  you  were  back,  and  had  brought  a 
doctor,"  he  said.    "I  am  glad  to  see  you  again. 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN       215 

Westley.    Come  in,  old  man,  come  in  and  talk. 

Have  you  heard  the  news?     My  first  book  is 

pu^  ''shed — yes,  as  quick  as  that.    A  copy  came 

i  1th   you   to-night,   in   Gabe   Bear's   mail- 

His  eyes  were  shining  with  excitement. 

"I  am  glad  of  that,"  said  Westley,  heartily; 
and  he  was  about  to  close  the  door  and  state 
his  errand  when  a  voice  from  the  uncertain, 
starlit  gloom  at  his  back  caused  him  to  turn 
swiftly. 

"Good  evening,  gentlemen,"  said  the  voice. 

Westley  and  the  factor  saw  a  muflBed  figure 
standing  at  the  foot  of  the  steps. 

"I  am  Corporal  Wyre,  of  the  mounted 
police,"  said  the  stranger.  "I  am  looking  for 
an  Indian  who  is  wanted  a  long  way  from 
here.    I  think  he  is  somewhere  in  this  countr>'." 

Westley  glanced  at  Donald  Grant.  The  fac- 
tor's face  had  changed  to  a  mask  and  his  eyes 
had  fallen  as  dull  as  painted  wood. 

"Come  in,  corporal,"  he  said. 

"Known  in  the  East  by  the  name  of  Micmac 
Jim,"  said  the  corporal,  ascending  the  steps.  A 
light  of  relief  flickered  in  Grant's  eyes. 

"Never  heard  of  him,"  he  said. 

"And  sometimes  known  as  Steve  Canadian," 
said  the  corporal. 

Grant  stepped  back  from  the  door  with  doubt 
and  despair  stamped  on  his  face. 


CHAPTER   XV 


THE   CALL   OF   THE   CORPORAL 


f 


Westley  felt  a  sudden,  keen  pity  for  the  fac- 
tor. Grant  was  in  an  awkward  position;  but 
it  would  be  madness  for  him  to  deny  to  the 
corporal  a  knowledge  of  Steve  Canadian. 

And  after  all,  who  would  pay  any  attention 
to  the  Indian's  story  of  the  factor's  past!  Who 
in  this  country  would  be  even  interested  in  it! 
Grant's  secret  was  no  offence  against  the  law 
and  was  in  no  way  connected  with  the  cnse  of 
Steve  Canadian. 

What  object  would  Steve  have  in  telling  it, 
if  he  were  taken  by  the  police  through  no  fault 
of  the  factor's!  And  what  object  would  the 
police  have,  even  if  they  heard  it,  in  giving  it 
to  the  world  at  large? 

Westley  reviewed  all  this  in  his  mind  in  a 
moment  and  felt  that  Grants  fear  of  the  bad 
Indian  was  unreasonable  and  had  always  been 
unreasonable.  There  is  where  the  cowardly 
nature  still  lurks,  he  reflected,  gazing  at  his 
unfortunate  friend.  Grant  returned  the  glance, 
and  his  forehead  flushed. 

316 


•I 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN      217 

"Yes,  Steve  Canadian  is  somewhere  in  this 
country,"  he  said.  "He  does  not  live  at  the 
post,  bat  comes  in  once  or  twice  a  week.  He 
has  a  camp  somewhere  about  here,  I  think. 
What  is  he  wanted  forf 

"Attempted  murder,  sir,  on  more  than  one 
count,"  replied  Corporal  Wyre,  removing  his 
fur  cap,  his  kit-bag  and  uis  snowshoes. 

"I  haven't  seen  him  to-day,"  said  the  factor. 
"When  did  you  arrive,  corporal!" 

"To-night,  sir,"  said  Wyre,  unslinging  a  belt 
and  two  revolvers  from  beneath  his  short  fur 
coat.  "Came  in  from  the  West.  Left  my  com- 
mand—a half-breed  and  a  tent,  in  camp  about 
one  hundred  miles  from  here.  The  breed  had 
a  touch  of  snow-blindness,  so  I  left  him  to  take 
a  few  days'  rest." 

By  this  time  the  three  men  were  in  the  lamp- 
lit  sitting-room.  The  corporal's  gray  eyes 
went  glinting  around  the  room  and  over  the 
faces  and  persons  of  the  factor  and  David 
Westley. 

"Westley,"  said  the  factor,  with  a  splendid 
show  of  composure,  "the  hour  and  the  oc- 
casion call  for  something  of  which  I  have  not 
so  much  as  a  drop  in  the  house." 

"And  that's  the  very  thing  I  came  here  to 
borrow,"  replied  David. 

"The  doctor  asked  for  a  drink  after  his  work 
with  Pierre,  and  my  canteen  has  been  cleared 


I   i 


218      TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 

out  during  my  absence.  He  must  be  tired  of 
waiting  for  it.  I'll  try  Dominic  Benoit  for  a 
bottle." 

The  corporal  glanced  sharply  from  ono  to 
the  other. 

"If  you're  talking  about  whisky,  I'll  admit 
that  a  nip  wouldn't  go  bad,  just  now,"  he  said. 

"I'll  get  some  from  Benoit,"  said  Westley. 
"I'll  be  back  in  a  minute." 

Corporal  Wyre  took  up  his  fur  cap.  "I'll 
step  along  with  you,  if  you  don't  object,"  he 
said. 

Westley  and  the  arm  of  the  law  went  out. 
Westley  led  the  way  straight  to  Benoit^s  cabin. 
As  he  neared  the  door  he  turned  to  Wyre. 

"I  suppose  this  is  part  of  your  duty,"  he 
said;  "and  I  am  afraid  you  think  the  factor 
and  I  were  romancing  when  we  said  there 
was  no  liquor  in  the  house." 

"It  is  my  duty  to  be  suspicious,  sir,"  replied 
the  corporal. 

Westley  hammered  on  the  door  until  old 
Dominic  opened  it. 

"Dominic,"  he  said,  "I  want  two  bottles 
of  my  own  whisky — and  be  quick  about  it,  you 
miserable  old  thief.  A  fine  nurse  you  are,  to 
carry  off  my  whisky  when  you  were  supposed 
to  be  looking  after  poor  Pierre.  No,  don't 
start  to  lie  about  it  This  gentleman  is  Cor- 
poral Wyre,  of  the  Koyal  Canadian  Northwest 


TWO    SHALL   BE    BORN      219 

Mounted  Police.  Two  bottles,  I  said — and  be 
sharp  about  it.    We  are  in  a  hurry." 

Dominic  turned  as  one  in  an  evil  dream;  and 
the  next  minute,  without  a  word,  handed  out 
tWO  bottles  through  the  half-open  door. 

"Now  if  you  will  come  over  to  my  shack  for 
a  moment,  I'll  be  obliged  to  you,"  said  West- 
ley  to  the  corporal.  "I  have  a  sick  man  there, 
and  a  doctor — and  'he  doctor  is  waiting  for 
me." 

Wyre  followed  him  in  silence.  They  entered 
the  sick  room  noiselessly.  The  doctor  got  up 
from  a  chair  by  the  stove  to  meet  them.  He 
looked  inquiringly  at  the  corporal. 

"Have  you  been  all  the  way  back  to  St. 
Anne's?"  he  asked  of  David. 

David  explained  the  delay  and  handed  over 
a  bottle.  The  corporal  removed  his  cap  re- 
spectfully, and  firmly  and  respectfully  stepped 
over  and  looked  at  the  man  in  the  bed. 

"Who  is  this!"  he  asked,  "and  what  is  the 
matter  with  himf 

The  doctor  explainer!  Pierre's  case,  speaking 
of  the  fever,  but  making  no  mention  of  the 
wound.  Doctors  are  naturally  discreet.  He 
produced  a  corkscrew  and  opened  the  bottle. 

"Corporal  Wyre  and  I  have  to  take  this 
over  to  Grant,"  said  Westley.  "Take  your 
drink,  doctor.  I'll  be  back  in  time  to  lend 
a  hand  at  Pierre's  next  bath." 


^ 


mm 


220      TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 

Outside,  the  corporal  turned  to  Westley. 

"I  can't  place  you,  Mr.  Westley,"  he  said. 
"You  don't  seem  to  belong  to  this  kind  of 
thing— and  yet  in  some  ways  you  do. 

"And  the  doctor!— a  city  man,  as  sure  as 
my  name  is  Wyre.  And  the  sick  'breed  in 
your  own  bed?  And  the  factor  with  a  half- 
written  novel  on  his  table  and  not  a  drop  of 
Scotch  in  his  house.  It  is  certainly  the  queerest 
H.  B.  C.  post  I've  ever  run  across." 

"You  are  a  keen  observer,"  replied  West- 
ley.  "I  am  fairly  new  to  Smoky  River;  but 
I  belong  here,  and  a  good  bit  of  the  country 
belongs  to  me.  The  doctor  arrived  here  to- 
night. I  brought  him  in  to  the  half-breed,  who 
is  a  friend  of  mine.  Mr.  Grant  has  no  Scotch 
in  the  house  for  t  simple  reason  that  he  is 
supposed  to  be  on  tue  water-wagon.  He  had 
plenty  of  it  when  I  first  came  here;  but  it  was 
too  much  for  him.  But  how  do  you  know  any- 
thing about  the  half-written  novels?" 

"I  read  half  a  page  of  it— and  liked  it 
fin?  "  replied  W^yre.  He  stepped  close  to  West- 
ley.  "What  sort  of  name  has  Steve  Canadian 
around  here?"  he  asked. 

"WTiy,  a  very  bad  name  indeed,"  answered 
Westley,  frankly. 

"A  bad  man  hanging  around  a  post  always 
means  a  slack  factor,"  said  the  corporal,  re- 
flectively.  "I  suppose  Mr.  Grant  is  so  busy  with 


lai  -1.    •  1  f  »  T    -1   ¥  ■ 


spmtmrm^m 


■9 


TM8^1^?ff! 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN       221 

his  novels  that  he  lets  things  slide?  Why 
doesn't  he  chuck  all  this  and  go  back  out  to 
civilization?" 

"You  had  better  ask  him,"  said  Westley. 

"Oh,  it's  none  of  ray  bu?-ness,"  returned 
Wyre. 

They  found  the  factor  sitting  at  his  table 
with  an  idle  pen  between  his  fingers.  He  came 
forward  as  they  entered  and  welcomed  them 
graciously.  He  left  the  room  for  a  moment 
and  returned  with  glasses  and  a  jug  of  water. 
He  pulled  the  cork  from  the  bottle  and  poured 
the  liquor  for  the  other  two.  He  poured  none 
for  himself.    His  eyes  met  David's. 

"You  two  must  excuse  me,"  he  said,  with  a 
faint  smile.    "I  am  on  a  keg." 

He  passed  around  a  box  of  cigars  and  lit 
a  weed  himself.  The  corporal  sipped  his 
Scotch  and  water,  yawned  once  or  twice  and 
puffed  slowly  at  his  cigar. 

He  seemed  to  have  little  to  say,  and  did  not 
refer  again  to  the  man  he  had  come  in  after. 
Beyond  remarking  upon  the  comfort  of  the  room 
and  of  a  sheltered  life  in  general  he  was  silent. 
Westley  left  in  a  little  while  and  went  back 
to  his  own  shack. 

There  he  and  the  doctor  gave  Pierre  another 
wash-down  with  ice-water.  This  time  it  brought 
Pierre  to  his  senses  for  a  moment  and  he  looked 
straight  at  Westley  and  called  him  by  name. 


u^     ■! 


'^^^^^fl 


222      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 


I 


I 


1* 

f 


Again  they  rolled  him  in  diy  blankets  and  lifted 
him  back  to  the  bunk.  The  doctor  fed  him  a 
little  with  condensed  milk,  greatly  diluted. 

"We  are  cooling  him,"  he  said.  "I  don't 
think  we  had  bettor  give  him  another  before 
morning.  I'll  watch  him  till  then.  Where  aro 
you  going  to  sleep,  Mr.  Westleyf 

"If  you  don't  need  me,  I'll  find  a  bed  at  the 
factor's,"  said  David. 

The  doctor  assured  him  that  he  could  get 
through  the  night  alone;  so  Westley  returned 
to  the  big  house  and  explained  matters  to  Grant. 

It  was  then  very  late.  Grant  made  up  beds 
by  the  stove  in  the  big  room  for  David  and 
the  corporal,  and  then  retired  to  his  own  cham- 
ber. The  two  in  the  living-room  rolled  up  in 
their  blankets  and  went  instantly  to  sleep;  but 
not  so  the  factor. 

Grant  sat  on  the  edge  of  his  bed  for  half  an 
hour,  staring  at  the  lamp  which  he  had  placed 
on  a  chair.  At  last  he  took  off  his  slippers 
and,  reaching  under  the  bed,  pulled  forth  a 
])air  of  mC'  asins  and  several  pairs  of  woolen 
stockings.  These  he  put  on.  His  slim  hands 
trembled. 

He  moved  noiselessly  to  a  closet  in  the  room 
and  took  out  a  blanket-coat  and  a  cap.  He 
extinguished  the  lamp  and  stole  from  the 
room.  He  descended  the  tairs  in  the  dark, 
without  a  sound,  paused  for  a  moment  at  the 
door  of  the  room  in  which  his  guests  were 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN      228 


sleeping,  then  turned  and  felt  his  furtive  way 
{doug  liie  narrow  hall,  through  a  pantry  and 
storeroom  and  into  the  deserted  kitchen. 

There  he  found  snowshoes,  a  lantern  and  a 
short-handled  belt-ax.  lie  pulled  back  the 
bolts  of  the  door  cautiously  and  stepped  out- 
side. He  went  swiftly  across  the  big  clearing, 
following  beaten  paths  from  cabin  to  cabin. 

At  the  edge  of  the  woods  he  put  on  his  snow- 
shoes.  He  made  his  way  into  the  black  forest 
through  the  thickest  tangles  of  underbrush. 
At  last  he  lit  the  lantern  and  looked  at  his 
pocket-compass. 

He  changed  his  course  and  presently  came 
to  the  deep-drifted,  brash-tangled  bed  o^  a 
stream.  He  broke  his  way  through  the  b--  s-' 
and  followed  this  for  about  half  a  mile.  He 
left  the  stream  and  presently  came  to  what  he 
was  looking  for — the  outer  trails  of  a  moose- 
yard. 

These  trails  had  been  scarred  by  fresh  hoof- 
prints  even  since  the  new  snow  had  ceased  to 
fall.  He  removed  the  long  racquets  from  his 
feet  and  followed  one  of  these  twisting  tracks^ 
He  extinguished  the  lantern  and  went  as  cau- 
tiously as  if  hunting.  He  skirted  the  center 
of  the  moose-yard,  swung  around  it  and  beyond 
it  and  again  halted  and  lit  the  lantern. 

The  forest,  thick  with  underbrush,  arose 
steeply  before  hun  up  the  tlanks  of  a  high  and 
broken  hill.     He  whistled  shrilly,  waited  and 


!  I 


;   fl 


■up 


,1  # 


i-.i 


224      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

whistled  again,  now  holding  the  lantern  close 
down  to  the  snow  and  now  high  above  his  head. 

Suddenly  a  long  figure  stepped  noiselessly 
into  the  circle  of  light,  out  of  the  black  wall 
of  trees  and  dark.  It  was  Steve  Canadian, 
alias  Micmac  Jim,  rifle  in  hand. 

"Hullo,"  said  the  Indian,  with  suspicion  and 
derision  clashing  harshly  in  his  voice,  "what 
fell  bring  you  here?" 

The  factor  flushed  darkly  at  the  insolence  of 
tone  and  words. 

"There  is  a  corporal  of  the  police  at  the 
post,"  he  replied.  "He  came  in  to-night,  and 
is  looking  for  you.  He  spoke  of  you  as  Mic- 
mac Jim  at  first,  and  I  said  I  had  never  heard 
of  you.  Then  he  called  you  by  the  name  you 
go  by  here." 

"An'  you  say  you  know  me!"  exclaimed 
Steve,  threateningly. 

"What  else  could  I  do,"  returned  the  factor. 
"Westley  was  there — and  he  would  have  found 
out  from  any  one  at  the  post,  anyway,  that  you 
are  in  this  part  of  the  country.  So  I  told  him 
that  you  often  came  in  to  the  post.  He  is 
asleep  at  my  house  now;  and  I  have  come 
to  warn  you." 

The  Indian  glanced  furtively  about  him  with 
his  evil  eyes  red  in  the  lantem-light.  He  swore, 
and  it  sounded  like  the  snarl  of  a  dog. 

"You  try  to  scare  me  away  1"  he  cried.  "You 


Tsr- 


TiXF 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN      225 


send  for  the  police,  I  guess,  to  scare  me  away 
— an*  save  yer  money.  Oh,  yes.  I  guess  I 
shoot  you.  No,  I  don't  shoot  you.  Gimme 
some  money  an*  I  go  away.  Yes,  gimme  two 
— three  hundred  dollars  an'  I  go.'* 

He  leered  at  the  factor. 

"I  have  no  money  with  me,"  said  Grant,  un- 
steadily. "I  did  not  think  of  it.  But  you  have 
plenty  of  money.  It  isn't  more  than  a  month 
ago  that  I  gave  you  two  hundred  dollars;  and 
when  you  say  that  I  sent  for  the  police  you 
are  lying — and  you  know  it." 

Steve  Canadian  sneered.  "Yes,  I  know,"  he 
said.  "I  know  you  don't  like  police  no  more 
nor  me.    Gimme  some  money  an'  I  go." 

"I  tell  you  that  I  have  no  money  with  me,'* 
said  Grant,  desperately. 

"Oh,  dam  you,  then  I  shoot  you,"  retorted  the 
Indian.  "You  suppose  to  be  dead  man,  any- 
how." 

"Don't  be  a  fool!"  cried  Grant.  "If  you 
shoot  me  you'll  hang  for  it.  The  company 
will  catch  you  and  hang  you  if  they  have  to 
track  you  'round  the  world.  Man,  I  have  given 
you  plenty  of  money — and  I  have  always 
treated  you  right 

"Westley  would  have  you  in  jaU  now  for  what 
you  did  to  Pierre  MacKim,  but  for  me.  Go 
away;  and  later  you'll  be  able  to  come  back 
and  I'll  give  you  some  more  money.'* 


li 


f ' 

4 


ramr^i-' 


.^^'^^ui^ 


226      TWO    SHALL   BE    BORN 

The  Indian  snarled.  "Grant,"  he  said,  "you 
got  heart  like  a  fly.  If  you  have  man's  heart 
you  kill  me  long  ago.  You  scared  to  lift  yer 
finger  at  me.  Oh,  I  guess  I  kill  you  now — 
jus'  for  fun." 

Grant's  courage  melted  before  the  Indian's 
mad  eyes.  Yes,  the  fellow  was  mad,  or  drunk, 
and  thoroughly  evil.  Grant  set  the  lighted 
lantern  down  in  the  snow,  moving  like  a  man 
in  a  nightmare,  and  stepped  backward. 

He  screamed;  but  he  scarcely  heard  his  own 
voice.  The  Indian  laughed  and  raised  his  rifle. 
The  factor  stumbled,  and  in  recovering  his 
balance  struck  his  hand  sharply  against  the 
head  of  his  ax.  The  big,  fur  mitten  fell  from 
his  right  hand. 

"St?n'  up.  Grant,  an'  ^et  shot  like  a  man,** 
sneered  Steve  Canadian. 

Drunk  with  terror.  Grant  floundered  to  his 
feet  The  ax  was  in  his  hands,  and  he  stood 
beyond  the  light  of  the  lantern.  Quicker  than 
thought — for  his  mind  was  too  stricken  with 
fear  to  work  at  all — he  threw  the  ax  straight 
at  the  Indian  with  every  ounce  of  his  weight 
behind  it. 

Steve  Canadian  went  down  upon  the  snow 
with  a  gurgling  grunt  Grant  darted  forward, 
snatched  up  the  lantern  turned  and  fled. 


iimn^iBmmm 


m^^m 


mam 


msr 


Steve  Canadian  went  down  upon  the  snow  with  a  gurgling  grunt. 

(Page  226.) 


m 


.4< 


'~4«'.a>l  If '!«>-;£(■ 


If] 


CHAPTER   XVI 


A   STRANGER   VISITS   TWO    MOOSE 


*  1 1 


The  factor  showed  a  haggard  face  to  his 
guests  at  the  breakfast-table  on  the  morning 
after  his  expedition  into  the  woods  to  warn 
Steve  Canadian  of  the  arrival  of  the  corporal 
of  police. 

David  ^Vestley  went  over  to  his  own  shack 
to  see  the  sick  man  and  the  doctor.  He  found 
both  sleeping  quietly.  To  his  unprofessional 
eye  it  looked  as  if  the  crisis  for  Pierre  had 
passed. 

Corporal  Wyre  lit  his  pipe  and  sat  by  the 
stove,  talking  a  little,  asking  a  few  questions 
about  Steve  Canadian,  and  glancing  through 
some  old  magazines,  as  if  he  had  come  into 
the  wilderness  for  no  more  serious  purpose. 
The  factor,  heavy-eyed,  with  his  heart  disturbed 
by  conflicting  emotions  of  relief,  fear  and  re- 
morse, entertained  the  corporal  to  the  best 
of  his  ability. 

After  the  midday  dinner,  which  the  factor 
and  the  corporal  ate  together,  Wyre  remarked 
that  he  might  as  well  step  out  and  look  around 

227 


III 


if 


^  L 


n 

it 


i 

[  i 
,■* 

I 


n 


228      TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 

for  Canadian,  considering  the  fact  that  Ce- 
nadian  had  failed  to  call  upon  him.  Donald 
Grant  made  no  objection  to  this,  but  put  a 
couple  of  men  at  the  policeman's  disposal. 

So  Wy  got  into  his  moccasins  and  outer 
clothes  and  left  the  house.  Grant  wondered 
dully,  for  a  little,  if  Wyre  would,  by  any  chance, 
find  the  body  of  the  Indian;  and  what  was 
likely  to  happen  if  he  did.     He  felt  sleepy. 

He  put  these  unpleasant  questions  out  of  his, 
mind,  began  to  plan  wonderful  dreams  of  the 
future,  and  so  fell  asleep  at  last  in  his  chair. 

The  corporal  returned  to  the  big  house  shortly 
after  lamplight  time.  The  factor  was  awake, 
smoking  a  cigar  and  writing  busily  on  one 
of  his  stories. 

"Couldn't  find  him,  sir,"  said  "Wyre;  "but 
I  was  pretty  warm.  I  found  his  den,  and 
what  I  take  to  be  some  of  his  blood — and  this.'* 

He  showed  the  belt-ax  which  Grant  had 
hurled  full  into  the  bad  Indian's  face.  Blood 
and  snow  were  frozen  to  the  pole,  or  back, 
of  the  wedgelike  head.    Grant  stared  at  it. 

"You  found  that?"  he  queried  faintly.  "You 
found  that,  but  not  the  man  himself?" 

"That's  it,"  replied  Wyre.  "And  there  was 
plenty  of  blood  on  the  snow,  and  the  mark  of 
the  place  where  he  had  fallen,  and  his  trail 
where  he  had  crawled  up  through  the  brush 
to  his  den.    But  I  couldn't  find  him.    .Wonder 


.'  rHA-! 


TWO    SHALL   BE    BORN      229 


who  hit  him!  Do  you  happen  to  know  the 
ax,  sir!" 

Grant  put  out  his  hands  and  took  hold  of 
the  ax  with  a  mighty  effort  of  will. 

"Why,  confound  it  all  1 1  could  swear  to  it  as 
my  ax,"  he  said. 

It  was  well  done.  Wyre  looked  perplexed. 

"Your  ax!"  he  said.  "Where  did  you  keep 
it!" 

"Hanging  in  one  of  the  sheds." 

Wyre  nodded.  "I  saw  some  recent  snowshoe 
tracks,"  he  remarked.  "They  were  hard  enough 
to  follow,  I  can  tell  you.  Fooled  me  a  couple 
of  times  in  the  underbrush  and  gave  me  the 
slip  in  a  moose-yard." 

Grant  felt  no  uneasiness.  He  had  burned 
the  snowshoes  before  retiring  to  his  bed  upon 
returning  from  the  expedition. 

"All  the  snowshoes  around  here  are  made 
much  the  same  shape,"  he  said.  He  wondered 
how  the  corporal  had  happened  not  to  find 
Steve  Canadian.  Surely  the  fellow  could  not 
have  gone  far  after  that  injury. 

Corporal  Wyre  searched  the  wilderness  im- 
mediately around  the  post  for  three  more  days, 
and  then  went  away,  unsuccessful.  By  this 
time  Dr.  Dixon  felt  pretty  sure  that  Pierre's 
recovery  was  simply  a  matter  of  time  and 
proper  attention. 

"We  need  you  right  here,  winter  and  sum- 


m 

1j 


■-.tfi 


M^ 


ir,tTi>l— '■=  r.l.^ 


;/.A/i.i-./L 


i'jf^^.-jA'^- 


iif^ 


230      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

mer,"  David  Westley  said  to  the  doctor,  and  he 
made  an  offer  which  the  doctor  had  sense 
enough  not  to  refuse. 

Dixon  had  plenty  to  do.  There  were  a  few 
cases  of  illness,  and  more  of  accidents,  in  the 
lumbering  crews.  The  work  of  the  post  and 
Westley's  great  adventure  went  on.  Lumber 
was  hauled  to  the  new  mill  and  sawn.  More 
lumber— thousands  of  logs  of  pine  and  spruce 
—were  hauled  to  points  on  the  banks  of  the 
frozen  river  and  there  piled  in  "brows,"  ready 
to  tumble  into  the  river  as  soon  as  spring  broke 
the  ice  and  sent  all  grinding  away  downstream. 
And  while  they  worked  at  the  lumbering  and 
sawing,  Westley  and  Duff  elaborated  their  plans 
for  the  future  development  of  the  wilderness. 
The  factor,  too,  made  plans  for  the  future.  He 
made  another  midnight  expedition  to  the  scene 
of  his  dispute  with  Steve  Canadian. 

The  corporal  was  right — the  Indian  had  got 
clear  away.  And  he  had  managed  to  take  his 
rifle  along  with  him.  The  den  on  the  mountain- 
side, hidden  by  a  tangle  of  brush  and  a  screen 
of  overhanging  branches,  was  undoubtedly  de- 
serted. 

Grant  felt  something  of  relief  at  this  assur- 
ance that  he  had  not  killed  Steve  Canadian; 
but  this  emotion  was  soon  replaced  by  another. 
Anxiety  came  back  to  him,  and  a  feverish  de- 
sire to  get  away  from  Two  Moose  and  hide 


],^:.;^ 


fl«l.>JCl": 


■J!L«Jl]l.'llJ..UMJ.-Ll.i.->i 


ww^ww^Fm 


PWWl 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN      281 

from  Steve  Canadian  in  the  cities  of  the  world. 
The  fellow  might  turn  up  again  any  day.  The 
only  thing  that  kept  the  factor  at  his  post  now 
was  his  need  of  money.  His  first  book  was  pub- 
lished, 'tis  true,  but  no  advance  had  been  made 
to  him,  and  it  would  be  months  before  he  would 
get  any  from  the  publisher,  no  matter  how  well 
the  book  might  be  selli::g. 

He  took  it  for  granted  that  the  book  would 
enjoy  a  moderate  success,  and  laid  his  plans 
accordingly.  The  very  day  that  should  bring 
him  his  money  should  see  him  started  upon  his 
journey  back  to  the  world,  by  way  of  St.  Anne's. 

Pierre  MacKim,  though  out  of  danger,  con- 
tinued limp  as  a  rag  for  months.  In  March 
he  went  back  to  his  mother's  cabin.  Rosie 
nursed  him,  and  Marie  Benoit  visited  him  once 
a  day.  Pierre  was  happy.  He  was  alive;  and 
it  was  David  Westley  who  hud  saved  his  life 
to  him.  And  Marie  was  very  kind  and  more 
beautiful  than  ever. 

Sometimes  she  worried  him  a  little  with  the 
far-away  look  in  her  dark  eyes  and  her  air  of 
preoccupation.  He  talked  to  her  of  David. 
Never,  he  said,  had  so  great  and  good  a  man 
set  foot  in  the   Smoky  River  country. 

Had  he  not  found  the  little  one  when  she 
was  lost  far  away  on  the  other  side  of  the  river? 
Had  he  not  frightened  Steve  Canadian  clean 
out  of  the  country?     And,   now,   did  not  he 


» t 


1^ 


■  ■Ik.^'ITT.a 


'M 


i 


282      TWO    SHALL   BE    BORN 

himself,  Pierre  MacKim,  owe  the  very  beatings 
of  this  heart  to  hunt  It  was  true;  and  Marie 
would  listen  to  such  talk  by  the  hour,  in  silence, 
with  that  far-away  blankness  in  her  fine  eyes, 
and  Heaven  only  knows  what  thoughts  and 
emotions  in  her  wild  heart. 

As  for  David,  he  kept  away  from  Marie, 
seeing  her  and  speaking  to  her  only  when  he 
could  not  help  it.  He  flattered  himself  that 
he  managed  this  so  neatly  that  even  the  girl 
could  not  notice  the  restraint  in  his  manner. 
This  was  not  accomplished  without  an  effort, 
for  Marie  continued  to  attract  him. 

She  seemed  to  him  a  natural  and  suitable  part 
of  this  life  and  the  wilderness.  He  saw  that 
her  womanhood  and  her  beauty  were  not  to  be 
measured  by  the  standards  of  civilization.  But 
he  thought  of  Pierre  MacKim. 

And  so  the  weeks  went  by,  and  a  month  or 
two  rolled  up  on  their  heels.  It  was  in  March 
that  Gabe  Bear,  bringing  in  the  mails  from  St. 
Anne's,  guided  a  stranger  to  within  five  miles  of 
the  post  and  there  left  him  to  splice  the  frame 
of  one  of  his  snowshoes.  Gabe  was  sorry  that 
he  could  not  stop  and  do  the  splicing  for  the 
stranger;  but  his  duty  as  a  trusted  official  of 
the  King  of  England  bade  him  press  forward 
without  delay.  Gabe  had  a  great  notion  of 
himself  and  his  job. 


Ff.t' 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN      288 


"Don't  worry  abont  me,"  said  the  stranger. 
"I'll  follow  along  in  yoar  tracks." 

Gabe  Bear  went  straight  to  the  factor's 
house,  as  required  by  law,  and  placed  the  mail- 
bag  on  the  table  in  the  big  sitting-room. 

"A  stranger  come  along  with  me,"  said  Gabe. 
"He  tell  me  to  say  nothin*.  He  give  me  five 
dollar  to  keep  quiet.  He  five  mile  back  now 
— not  so  much  now,  maybe — ^mendin'  his  racket. 
Guess  I  better  tell  you." 

"A  stranger!"  queried  the  factor,  looking  up 
sharply. 

"Sure,"  replied  Gabe.  "One  English  sport, 
I  guess.  He  ax  a  little  'bout  you  an'  some 
'bout  Westley — but  not  so  much  as  he  want  for 
to  know,  maybe.  English  feller,  you  bet  I 
see  one  like  him  long  time  back.  Soldier-offi- 
cer, I  t'ink.    Pretty  good  feller." 

"What's  his  name?"  asked  Grant,  anxiously. 

"He  don't  tell  me,"  replied  Gabe.  "I  ax  him, 
too." 

Grant  sorted  the  half-dozen  letters  and  three 
newspapers.  One  letter  was  for  himself  from 
his  publishers.  The  others  were  business  com- 
munications for  Westley.  He  signed  and  dated 
Gabe's  paper,  then  gave  him  the  five  letters  and 
told  him  to  take  them  over  to  Mr.  Westley. 

The  moment  Gabe  left  th«>  room.  Grant  looked 
to  see  what  his  publishers  nad  to  say.    It  ap- 


284      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 


peared  that,  durin}?  the  abv^nce  of  both  partners 
from  the  office,  a  clerk  md  replied  to  a  letter 
that  the  finn  had  hoen  holding,  awaiting  in- 
structions. In  shon,  the  afurenientioned  clerk 
had  sent  Mr.  Donald  Grant's  address,  without 
authorit5%  to  an  admiring  reader.  The  name  of 
the  admiring  reader  w;      Wa'ter  Joice. 

The  firm  was  sorry,  Imr  lai^-  ed  that  no  harm 
had  been  done.  As  for  ih"  bo -k,  it  was  selling 
well.  They  should  be  yuA  to  consider  another 
at  the  earliest  date  oi^vf^nieLt  to  Mr.  Grant. 
And  so  on. 

Grant  slipped  the  lett'  r-  into  bin  pocket.  He 
turned  in  bis  chair  and  looked  out  of  the  win- 
dow into  the  bright  clearing.  He  stood  up, 
placed  a  cigar-box  on  top  of  the  nianus^-ript 
on  which  he  bad  been  working  at  the  moment 
of  Gabe's  arrival,  sighed,  and  left  the  room. 

He  came  back  ten  minutes  later,  dressed  for 
the  open.  With  feverish  haste  he  gathered  to- 
gether all  his  manuscripts,  papers,  and  letters, 
threw  them  into  an  empty  drawer  of  his  desk, 
and  locked  the  drawer. 

The  stranger  mended  his  broken  snowshoe 
after  a  fashion,  smoked  a  pipe  in  ccuif^M't,  and 
then  followed  the  broad,  white  trail  into  the 
post.  He  seemed  to  be  in  no  hurry;  but  his 
brow  was  heavy  with  thought.  He  entered  the 
big  clearing  at  last,  and  came  face  to  face  with 
David  Westlev. 


M 


TWO    SHALI     BE    BORN      285 


Westley  showed  astoni  bmont  and  displeas- 
ure, but  the  stranger  gave  no  sign  of  either 
of  these  emotions.  He  j  ulled  of^  one  of  his 
mink-skin  gl     es  and  extended  his  hand. 

"Hello,  V.  estley!"  he  s;dd.  -'How're  you 
feeling?" 

His  eyes  were  entirely  frank,  his  smile  en- 
tirely friendly.  There  wis  no  jeer,  or  no 
double  meaning,  in  his  polito  <iaery.  Da\ia  rose 


to    the    opcasitn.    so?    oled 
grasfted  tiie  otJ  er's    las  d. 

•'H  llo,  Joice!"  he  said. 
What   luck}"   wild    has    bi 
Smoky  River  ooantryf" 

"Give  me  a    hai  'e  to  s 
to  eat  a?  1  a  {lOt  <  f  tea 
Joiee. 

"I  hav.   a  sli  ick    .e- 
alonj.'^"     He    gian  ed     i 
my  man  t-'H     ou  whe    > 


!:■      fe 


la*l  *^ 


;r^'8. 


and 


see  you. 
into    'he 


up  e^S^ 


ome 


1  T      leii  you," 


.d 


"Bless   !        no!" 
"But  p-'e  uot  l~ee 
That's  ihe  queej   Dan 


replied  David.  "Come 
i  iply  at  Joice.  "Did 
'  to  find  mef  he  asked, 
urned  the  Englishman, 
kin^  for  you,  Westley. 
of  I  had  no  idea  of 
your  whereaboUi>?  mtil  i  struck  St.  Anne's. 
This  is  L  ^eat  ]  leasure,  Westley,  but  abso- 
lutely uney     cted " 

Wt  tley  uld  not  doubt  this  statement;  and 
niat  miide  ii  seem  all  the  more  queor  ^Vllat 
iiad  irought  »ice  straight  into  Two  Moose! 
He  itjlt  reiiei    it      e  thought  that  it  was  not 


WP 


286      TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 


himself — and  with  the  relief  a  childish,  un- 
reasonable sense  of  ill-treatment. 

Joice  had  jnst  happened  to  stumble  in  on 
him,  and  was  mildly  pleased  to  meet  him  again. 
The  Englishman  evidently  felt  no  awkwardness 
in  the  situation.  Heavens!  could  it  be  that  he 
and  all  his  affairs  were  already  forgotten!  It 
was  an  humiliating  thought;  and  yet  surely  it 
was  the  thing  he  wanted — forgetfulness. 

Joice  told  his  story  over  a  hastily  cooked  meal 
and  a  pot  of  tea.  It  was  disjointed ;  but  West- 
ley  was  able  to  put  most  of  the  joints  together. 
Joice  had  read  a  new  book  by  one  Donald  Grant. 

The  story  was  identical,  so  far  as  his  memory 
served,  with  one  that  a  friend  of  his — a  rela- 
tive, in  fact — had  invented  and  told  to  him 
when  they  were  boys  at  school.  His  relative's 
name  was  not  Grant.  He  had  asked  the  pub- 
lishers of  the  book  for  Mr.  Grant's  address,  and 
after  a  wait  of  several  months,  had  received 
word  that  Donald  Grant  was  resident  in  Fort 
Two  Moose,  Smoky  River,  etc.,  etc. 

"What  do  you  want  of  Grant?"  asked  West- 
ley.    "He  is  factor  here." 

"I  want  to  learn  where  he  picked  up  that 
story,  and  by  what  right  he  uses  it,"  replied 
Joice. 

Westley  lit  his  pipe.  He  saw  roughly  how 
the  land  lay.  His  first  and  strongest  feeling 
was  of  pity  for  Grant.    Well,  it  was  none  of 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN      287 

his  business;  but  so  far  as  he  could,  he  would 
make  it  his  business  to  protect  the  factor  from 
the  thing  he  feared — disclosure. 

"Perhaps  your  friend  gave  the  story  to 
Grant,"  he  suggested. 

"My  friend  is  dead,"  replied  Joice.  "He 
died  in  South  Africa." 

Westley  placed  a  box  of  cigarettes  at  Joice's 
elbow. 

"I'll  step  over  to  the  house  and  see  if  Grant 
is  at  home,"  he  said. 

"I'll  go  witii  you,"  said  Joice. 

Westley  could  ttiink  of  no  reasonable  ob- 
jection to  this;  but  his  intention  had  been  to 
give  Grant  the  tip  that  some  one  who  had 
known  him  in  the  old  life  was  looking  for  him 
under  the  impression  that  he  had  come  dishon- 
estly, in  the  person  of  Donald  Grant,  by  the 
book  which  had  been  published. 

They  did  not  find  Grant  in  his  sitting-room. 
They  failed  to  discover  him  anywhere  in  the 
house.  The  servants  knew  nothing  more  than 
that  the  factor's  outer  coat,  moccasins,  and 
snowshoes  were  gone. 

"He's  sure  to  be  back  before  long,"  said 
Westley.  "He  never  stays  out  long.  Suppose 
we  sit  down  and  wait  for  him." 

They  sat  down  and  waited.  They  waited 
until  sunset,  dusk,  dark,  and  dinner-time,  and 
still  the  factor  failed  to  come  home.    Dinner 


238      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 


SIS 


was  served,  for  the  cook  had  received  no  orders 
to  the  contrary,  and  Joice  and  Westley  re- 
mained and  ate  it.  They  went  back  to  David's 
shack  after  that,  but  called  again  several  times 
during  the  evening.  Grant  did  not  return, 
however. 

"I  don't  understand  it,"  said  Westley,  who 
was  puzzled  and  anxious;  "I  never  knew  him 
to  go  away  like  this  before." 

Joice  was  equally  at  a  loss  to  know  why 
the  factor  had  fled  from  his  house,  Gabe,  of 
course,  may  have  warned  the  factor  that  a 
stranger  was  on  his  way  in  to  see  him ;  but  the 
man's  conscience  must  be  very  bad  to  send  him 
into  the  woods  like  this. 

Joice  asked  Westley  what  manner  of  person 
this  Donald  Grant  was;  and  Westley  was  dis- 
creet, weighing  every  answer  and  making  the 
best  of  the  absent  factor.  He  saw  Joice's  mis- 
take. He  saw  that  Grant  also  had  the  advan- 
tage of  Joice. 

It  was  quite  evident  that  the  captain  sus- 
pected nothing  of  the  game  which  Grant,  in 
his  old  name,  had  played  upon  his  friends  and 
the  world  at  large.  Joice  had  come  to  the 
wilderness  to  find  a  man  whom  he  suspected 
of  cribbing  another  man's  story,  little  knowing 
that  if  he  should  find  him  it  would  be  in  the 
person  of  an  old  friend  whom  he  believed  to  be 
dead  and  buried. 


■wiff 


mfm 


BK 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN      239 

The  factor  did  not  show  up  in  the  morning, 
and  so  a  search  party  was  formed.  Joice,  who 
was  a  good  woodsman,  joined  the  party,  which 
consisted  of  six  men.  Westley  took  a  line  of 
his  own ;  and  his  luck  was  with  him.  He  struck 
the  moose-yard  and  skirted  it.  He  came  at 
last  to  the  tangled  hillside  and  fresh  snowshoe 
tracks.  Half-way  up  the  tangled  slope  he  was 
confronted  by  the  man  he  sought. 

"Thank  Heaven  it's  you!"  exclaimed  Grant. 

"What's  your  game?"  asked  Westley,  heated 
a  little  by  his  climb. 

**I  don't  want  to  meet  that  fellow,"  said 
Grant.  **I  used  to  know  him.  He's  a  connec- 
tion of  mine.  He  thinks  I  am  dead.  What  the 
deuce  brought  him  in  here  after  me?" 

"He  has  no  idea  it  is  you  he  is  after,"  re- 
plied Westley.  "He  has  read  your  book,  and 
wants  to  know  where  you  got  hold  of  that  story. 
He  says  he  heard  it  told,  years  ago,  at  school 
by  a  friend  of  his." 

"He  honors  his  friend's  memory,"  said  Grant 
bitterly;  "but  if  he  knew  I  was  alive  he  would 
whistle  another  tune.  Westley,  if  you  are  my 
friend,  get  rid  of  him.  Get  him  out  of  this 
country." 


..im»-^-ii»  JJMT 


CHAPTER  XVII 


rOICE  AND   DOROTHY 


Iff* 


Westley  called  a  halt  on  the  search  party. 
His  word  was  law  at  Two  Moose  with  every- 
body but  Captain  Joice.  He  talked  to  Joice, 
and  at  last  half  convinced  him  that  it  was  not 
just  the  thing  to  hunt  a  man  out  of  his  house 
on  the  doubtful  charge  of  cribbing  a  story  that 
a  schoolboy  had  told  years  before. 

It  was  no  charge  at  all.  The  story  had  not 
even  been  written,  let  alone  copyrighted.  And 
he  assured  Joice  that  the  factor  had  imagined 
every  word  of  the  story  himself.  He  would 
swear  to  it. 

He  painted  Donald  Grant  in  a  light  that 
touched  a  cord  of  pity  in  the  captain's  heart. 
So  after  three  days  Joice  went  away;  sorely 
puzzled  and  itching  with  curiosity.  He  would 
have  remained  longer,  and  probed  the  mystery 
of  Donald  Grant  to  the  bottom,  but  for  the  fact 
that  he  felt  in  taking  his  departure  he  was 
obliging  David  Westley.  By  obliging  David 
he  threw  a  sop  to  his  own  conscience. 

But  why  should  Walter  Joice 's  conscience 
trouble  him!     Nothing  but  the  fact  that  in- 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN      241 

stead  of  playing  the  game  he  was  letting  the 
game  play  itself.  Not  once  had  he  mentioned 
the  name  of  Dorothy  Gordon  to  David.  He 
had  avoided  it  as  carefully  as  David  had  done. 
And  yet  he  knew  that  it  was  his  duty  to  talk 
of  her  to  Westley,  and  tell  him  the  truth. 

He  knew  the  truth,  though  he  did  his  best 
to  blind  his  eyes  to  it.  Hope  was  not  dead  in 
him;  but  something  of  his  old  sense  of  fair 
play  had  died  a  lingering  death. 

So  he  went  out  to  civilization,  by  way  of 
St.  Anne's,  without  any  accomplishment  to  hia 
credit.  This  was  not  like  Walter  Joice ;  but  the 
best  of  sportsmen  do  not  always  play  up  to 
their  top  form. 

The  factor  came  out  of  his  hiding-place, 
thanked  Westley  for  his  good  service,  and 
went  on  with  the  wriling  of  the  story  from 
which  Joice's  arrival  had  driven  him.  No  ques- 
tions were  asked.  Duff  was  far  too  busy  to 
ask  questions,  and  the  lumbermen  in  the  camps 
knew  nothing  about  the  affairs  of  the  post 

Out  in  the  world  to  which  Joice  had  re- 
turned, against  which  David  Westley  continued 
to  harden  his  heart,  and  toward  which  the  heart 
of  the  factor  yearned  day  and  night,  death  and 
life  and  joy  and  despair  went  on  at  their  old 
game ;  and  men  and  women  (pawns  in  the  game) 
continued  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  old  belief  that 
they  were  the  players. 


■ff^l^H^SMH^^Wf!!! 


242      TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 


iV 


lii  ' 


•  ) 


''■i 


The  Gordons  went  south,  after  Tom  had  shot 
a  bear  and  failed  to  hit  several  other  furtive 
children  of  the  northern  wilderness.  They  did 
not  stop  in  New  York,  but  by  easy  stages  went 
south  to  Florida,  to  Bermuda,  and  at  last  to  the 
little  island  of  Barbados. 

Captain  Joice,  returning  to  New  York,  learned 
of  the  Gordons'  continued  trip  southward.  He 
followed  them,  torn  by  anxiety,  uncertainty,  and 
self-scorn. 

Exactly  why  he  followed  he  could  not  say. 
At  one  moment  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had 
a  hundred  reasons,  and  in  the  next  moment  he 
was  equally  sure  that  he  had  no  reason  at  all 
— except  the  mad  thing  in  his  heart  that  was 
imperceptibly  changing  from  a  desire  to  a  mat- 
ter of  sheer  determination. 

His  love,  perhaps,  had  cooled  a  little  with  so 
little  to  feed  upon;  but  the  very  odds  against 
him  had  brought  to  life  something  of  stubborn 
pride  that  held  him  to  the  game.  The  fact  that 
he  had  allowed  himself  to  make  one  plaj  that 
was  open  to  criticism  made  him  the  more  sus- 
ceptible to  the  promptings  of  this  thing  of  stub- 
bom  pride. 

So  he  followed  Dorothy  from  Florida  to  Ber- 
muda, from  Bermuda  still  southward  to  Bar- 
bados— and  it  was  in  Barbados  that  he  came 
up  with  her.  You  may  well  believe  that  the  sen- 
timental mission  that  had  taken  him  into  the 


TWO    SHALL    BE   BORN      243 


Smoky  River  country  was  very  faint  in  his  mind 
by  this  time. 

Captain  Joice  arrived  in  Bridgetown  at  about 
the  hour  of  sunset,  when  sea  and  sky  were  all 
aflame  with  red  and  the  thin  cocoanut-trees  stood 
black  against  tlie  white  walls  of  the  town. 

From  the  harbor-front  he  took  an  open  car- 
riage to  the  chief  hotel  of  the  place,  which  lies 
about  a  mile  beyond  the  town.  Night  had  fallen 
by  the  time  the  hotel  was  reached.  Great  white 
stars  shone  overhead  in  a  purple  sky ;  the  open 
windows,  doors,  and  wide  porches  of  the  hotel 
illumined  the  inner  edges  of  rose-gardens  and 
lawns ;  the  low  drumming  of  the  surf  along  the 
reefs  came  in  and  the  trade  clashed  the  banners 
of  the  high  palms  with  an  equable  and  never- 
failing  breath. 

This,  surely,  was  the  garden  and  the  hour  of 
romance.  Joice  signed  his  name  in  the  register 
at  the  ornate  desk,  glanced  back  over  a  few 
pages,  then  followed  a  servant  up-stairs  with  a 
shaking  heart, 

Joice  changed  for  dinner  in  an  agitation  of 
haste,  and  then  at  the  last  moment  he  decided 
not  to  go  down  to  the  dining-room.  He  had  a 
curtailed  meal  brought  up  to  him.  He  loitered 
over  his  coffee,  now  fearful  that  time  was  slip- 
ping away  too  fast,  and  again  cursing  its  crawl- 
ing feet. 

The  coffee  did  not  steady  his  nerves.    Sweat 


244      TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 

jumped  out  upon  his  forehead  that  had  nothing 
to  do  with  the  tropic  climate. 

"This  must  stop,"  he  said.  "This  must  end, 
one  way  or  another.  I've  lost  my  grip  on  my- 
self." 

He  found  the  Gordons  on  the  wide  gallery 
overlooking  the  interior  court  of  the  hotel.  He 
spoke  to  John  Angus  first.  The  old  man  ex- 
claimed bis  name  and  looked  at  once  astonished, 
hopeful,  and  confused. 

He  turned  to  Dorothy.  The  girl  arose  and 
faced  him,  standing  slim  and  white  between  the 
long  arms  of  the  Berbice  chair.  Her  back  was 
to  the  court  of  rustling  foliage  and  the  white 
stars,  and  the  light  from  the  wide  windows  fell 
upon  her  face. 

She  extended  her  band  in  silence  with  a 
gesture  that  went  to  the  Englishman's  heart.  He 
was  startled  by  the  pallor  of  her  face  and  the 
wide  yet  shadowed  regard  of  her  eyes  that 
seemed  to  take  no  light,  and  reflect  no  light, 
from  the  bright  windows.  And  he  saw,  with 
dull  consternation  at  bis  heart,  that  her  face 
was  thinner  than  he  had  ever  known  it. 

He  took  her  band  awkwardly.  Then  Tom, 
with  a  cigar  in  bis  mouth  and  a  commonplace 
greeting  that  was  cordial  and  undismayed, 
stepped  up  and  saved  the  situation.  Joice  took 
a  chair  between  Mr.  Gordon  and  Dorothy.  He 
accepted  a  cigarette  from  the  old  man's  case 


lSIiM- 


rr'n»iRi4^pvf^?r^; 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN      245 


with  fumbling  fingers.  He  looked  helplessly  up 
at  the  white  stars,  and  then  straight  ahead  at 
the  billows  of  tropical  foliage  that  swelled  up 
into  the  light  from  the  hidden  court  below.  But 
he  saw  nothing  but  the  girl's  pale  face  and 
shadowed,  dauntless  eyes. 

Deep  in  his  heart  he  cursed  David  Westley. 
Never  before  had  he  felt  so  absolutely  antag- 
onistic to  Westley;  and  never  before  had  he 
tasted  the  bitterness  of  defeat  like  this.  And 
yet  his  stubborn  intention  stood  for  little, 
sullen  and  desperate  against  the  onslaughts  of 
reason  and  the  voice  of  his  true  self. 

Young  Tom  Gordon  did  his  best  to  make  talk. 
John  Angus  made  a  show  of  playing  up  to  him. 
Captain  Joice  aroused  himself  now  and  again 
to  make  some  futile  remark  or  answer  some 
aimless  question.  And  the  girl,  though  silent, 
held  the  attentions  of  the  company,  sharing 
them  only  with  David  Westley. 

Joice  saw  this.  The  man  in  the  wilderness, 
thousands  of  miles  away,  possessed  ths  thoughts 
of  the  company.  And  yet  these  others  were 
unaware  even  of  the  man's  whereabouts.  The 
thought  chilled  the  Englishman  as  if  he  had 
sensed  a  ghost  at  his  shoulder. 

Joice  felt  a  touch  on  his  sleeve.  Glancing 
down  he  saw  the  pale  gleam  of  the  girl's  hand. 
He  leaned  a  little  toward  her  over  the  arm 
of  his  low  chair.    Their  backs  were  to  the  light 


^-^— |^E»nyjc 


msi 


246      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 


of  the  windows;  and  her  face,  turned  to  him, 
was  no  more  than  a  pale  mask  set  in  shadows. 

"Have  you  nothing  to  tell  me  I"  she  breathed. 

"Wliat  can  I  tell  you — that  you  would  cart- 
to  hear?"  he  replied. 

Her  hand  slipped  away  from  his  sleeve. 
Motionless,  he  stared  at  leaves  of  trees  that 
topped  the  railing  in  front  of  him.  Emotions, 
keen  as  physical  pain,  quick  as  light,  conflicting 
as  death  and  life — Heaven  knows  I  am  not 
qualified  to  analyze  them  1 

He  gazed  at  the  trees  with  steady  eyes  and 
a  still  face.  His  hand  on  the  arm  of  his  ^i^^air 
lay  as  motionless  as  a  thing  of  wood;  and  in 
his  heart  the  battles  swelled  up,  ebbed  and 
swelled  again.  And  at  last  of  passions  and 
despairs  only  the  ashes  remained,  and  of  the 
many  pities  that  had  torn  him  only  a  great 
pity  for  Dorothy. 

All  that  was  stubborn  and  sullen  in  him  had 
burned  out,  and  the  heart  that  was  left  was 
the  true  heart  of  Walter  Joice.  He  felt  only 
shame  of  himself  now  and  the  great  pity  for 
the  young  woman  beside  him. 

He  turned  a  little  toward  her,  sighed,  and 
put  out  his  hand.  It  touched  hers,  rested  there 
a  moment,  and  was  withdrawn. 

"I  have  something  to  tell  you,"  he  said 
scarcely  above  a  whisper.  "I  did  not  mean  to 
tell  it — so  soon,  at  least." 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN      247 

She  sat  forward  in  her  lor  chair. 

"You  promised — long  ago— in  Central  Park 
— to  find  him  for  me,"  she  said. 

Mr.  Gordon  got  out  of  his  chair  and  went  in- 
doors. Tom  threw  a  lighted  cigarette  down 
among  the  crowded  green  of  the  trees  in  the 
court  and  followed  his  father. 

"It  was  quite  by  accident  that  I  ran  across 
him,"  said  Joice  slowly. 

No  wonder  he  spoke  slowly,  for  he  knew  that 
every  word  brought  him  nearer  to  the  in- 
exorable conclusion  of  a  beautiful  thing  that 
he  had  dreamed.  But  many  a  fine  dream  must 
be  undreamed  in  this  world.  Heaven  knows; 
and,  after  all,  the  stuff  of  which  such  dreams 
are  spun  is  being  forever  renewed  in  the  hearts 
of  men  and  women;  and  the  best  years  of  life, 
and  all  the  cities  and  wonders  of  the  world, 
and  a  man's  work  to  be  done,  still  waited  for 
him.  Joice  saw  these  truths  and  acknowledged 
them  to  himself  with  a  wan  smile. 

"I  was  up  in  the  north  on  some  business  of 
my  own,"  he  continued,  "and  heard  of  Westley. 
He  was  located  in  the  very  spot  for  which  I 
was  bound.  I  saw  him,  and  talked  to  him.  We 
were  together  for  three  days.  He  is  well,  and 
he  seems  happy." 

"Happy!"  queried  Dorothy,  with  a  catch  in 
her  voice,  leaning  yet  farther  forward  in  a  vain 
attempt  to  see  his  face  more  clearly. 


248      TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 

"Content,"  replied  Joice.  "He  has  large  in- 
terests in  the  country.  He  keeps  himself  busy ; 
and  he  is  a  big  man  in  that  wilderness.** 

Dorothy  trembled.  Her  hands  twitched  in 
her  lap.  She  leaned  back  in  the  chair  and 
closed  hor  eyes. 

"Do  you  feel— faintt"  he  asked  anxiously. 
"Is  there  anything  I  can  bring  you — ^brandy 
or  something!" 

She  shook  her  head.  After  a  moment  or  two 
she  sat  up  and  opened  her  eyes. 

"What  did  he  say  of  mel"  she  asked.  "And 
what  did  you  tell  him!" 

Joice  groaned.  He  stood  up  and  looked  down 
at  her.  So  this  was  how  he  had  kept  his  vow 
of  friendship  to  her! 

"He  did  not  speak  of  you,"  he  said,  sinking 
again  into  his  seat— "and,  Heaven  forgive  me, 
I  did  not  tell  him  anything  You  see — it  was 
unexpected.  I  had  not  gone  there  to  find  him. 
It  was  nothing  but  chance  that  brought  us  to- 
gether. Otherwise— if  I  had  been  looking  for 
him— I  should  have  told  him— the  truth.'* 

"He  did  not  mention  my  name!"  she  whis- 
pered. "And  you  say  he  is  contented  there — 
with  the  new  life!" 

"How  do  I  know!"  returned  Joice  wearily. 
"He  is  busy  with  his  new  affairs — ^with  his 
work  and  his  men.    He  is  a  changed  man,  I 


.^ 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORI^      249 

think.  He  has  acted  like  a  fool— and  perhaps 
he  is  less  of  a  fool  now  than  of  old.  How 
do  I  knowt 

"I  did  not  try  to  find  out  If  he  had  asked 
me  ahont  yon,  I  think  I  should  have  answered 
his  questions  to  the  hest  of  my  knowledge.  I 
admire  some  of  his  points — hut  I  think  it  only 
natural  that  I  do  not  love  him.  I  owe  it  to 
you  to  speak  frankly.  Wr  tley  is  there  at  Two 
Moose,  in  the  Smoky  River  country— and  likely 
to  stay  there,  I  imagine." 

"Do  you  think  he  has  forgotten  me?"  she 
whispered. 

"I  should  he  a  fool  to  think  so,"  he  replied. 
"To  be  honest — my  belief  is — that  he  is  trying 
to  forget  you." 

She  moved  quickly  in  her  chair  at  that. 

"But  why — should  he  want  to  forget— if  he 
received  ray  letters!"  she  asked 

"I  do  B  t  know,"  he  answe  .1  "They  may 
have  gone  astray,  or  he  may  I  a  we  u  »8troyed 
them  in  a  fit  of  temper.  He  is  -ot  n  ere  than 
human.  But  he  is  there  in  tL  jl?  >uiL7  River 
country,  at  a  post  of  the  Hudson  Bay  Company. 
This  is  all  I  can  tell  you;  and  this  has  been 
hard  enough.  I  think  I  should  never  have  told 
it  to  you  but  for  the  fact  that  I— saw  at  a  glance 
— that — ^well,  it  is  no  use." 

"I  understand  you,"  she  said  gently.    "You 


^ 


250      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

have  been — my  best  friend  in  all  the  world.  I 
have  not  been  worthy  of  your  friendship — and 
I  am  unworthy  now." 

"I  failed  you,"  he  answered  huskily.  "How- 
ever, I  cannot  mend  that  now — more  than  I 
have  done  already.  I  am  afraid  I  am  not  quite 
such  a  fine  chap  as  I  thought  myself.  If  you 
will  excuse  rce  a  minute  I  will  go  to  my  room 
and  write  the  address  for  you." 

Without  waiting  for  her  reply  he  left  his 
chair  and  entered  the  hotel.  When  he  returned 
to  the  gallery,  five  minutes  later,  he  found  that 
the  men  had  returned. 

He  slipped  a  folded  sheet  of  letter-paper  into 
Dorothy's  hand,  then  turned  to  Tom  Gordon 
and  suggested  a  walk  into  the  town.  Tom  was 
willing;  and  as  they  walked  along  the  white 
highway  the  younger  man  glanced  inquiringly 
at  the  other's  face  in  the  passing  of  every 
lighted  window.  It  was  a  tense  face  just  then, 
but  there  was  a  suggestion  of  peace  about  the 
fearless  eyes  that  somewhat  eased  Tom's  anx- 
iety. 

Mr.  Gordon  moved  over  to  the  chair  beside 
Dorothy  a  minute  after  the  others  had  gone. 
Try  as  he  would,  he  could  read  nothing  in  her 
shadowed  face. 

He  felt  very  badly.  He  was  worried— wor- 
ried almost  to  distraction.  Heavens!  What 
ailed  the  girl.    He  lit  a  cigarette  and  promptly 


\4 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN      251 

threw  it  away.  He  fumbled  for  another  and 
dropped  the  silver  case  through  the  railing  into 
the  court  below.    Then  he  swore. 

"Is  there  to  be  no  end  to  this?"  he  cried.  "It 
— ^it  is  outrageous.  I'll  not  put  up  with  it.  It 
is  breaking  your  health — to  say  nothing  of  mine. 
And  what  about  Joice  now?  What  is  the  mat- 
ter with  him  now?  I  hoped  that  he,  at  least, 
had  come  to  his  proper  senses.  Why  has  he 
tagged  down  here  after  us?  I  teD  you,  Dot,  I 
feel  desperate.  Is  there  no  way  out?  What 
does  Joice  want?'* 

"Captain  Joice — ^wants  nothing — I  think,"  re- 
plied Dorothy. 

She  glanced  around  the  gallery,  to  see  that  no 
other  guests  of  the  hotel  were  within  sight  or 
hearing.  They  were  alone  on  the  gallery.  She 
slipped  from  her  chair  and  dropped  to  her 
knees  beside  her  father.  She  threw  her  arms 
around  his  neck  and  pressed  her  face  against 
the  bul^ng  front  of  his  shirt. 

**0h,  I  am  a  beast! — a  selfish  beast  I"  she 
whispered.  "I  have  thought  of  nobody — but 
myself.  *  * 

"Nothing  of  the  kind  I"  exclaimed  John  An- 
gus.  "I'll  not  allow  you  to  say  so.  It's  not 
your  fault  Not  a  bit  of  it.  Don't  pay  any  at- 
tention to  what  I  say.  Dot  I  don't  mean  one 
quarter  of  what  I  say.  But  tell  me — do  you 
still  feel  as  you  did?" 


252      TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 

Dorothy  was  silent 

"The  man  is  a  fool !"  exclaimed  Gordon.  "If 
I  knew  where  he  was  hiding  himself,  I'd  go 
find  him  and  give  him  a  piece  of  my  mind.  Td 
give  him  more  than  that,  hy  thunder.  How 
dare  he  behave  like  this?  Who  the  deuce  does 
he  think  he  is,  anyway!  I'll  show  him— if  I 
ever  get  p  chance.  Men  were  not  such  fools 
and  cads  in  my  day.  Even  Joice  is  acting  like 
an  ass.  I  hope  you  have  let  him  see — that  it 
is  quite  useless  for  him  to  follow  us  about  any 
moret" 

"He  knows  that,"  whispered  Dorothy. 

**He  seems  to  require  a  lot  of  teaching,  poor 
sinner,"  said  Gordon. 


'"m 


CHAPTER   XVin 


THE  COMING  OF  8PBIN0 


Up  in  the  Smoky  River  country  the  frosty 
edge  of  winter  b^an  to  blur  and  soften  into 
spring.  The  noonday  sun,  which  had  for  so 
long  been  a  thing  of  light  only — an  eye  of 
radiance  possessed  of  no  more  color  and  glow 
than  a  fragment  of  window-glass — now  shed 
yellow  warmth  upon  the  wilderness. 

Westley's  lumberjacks  unbuttoned  their  blan- 
ket-jumpers and  pushed  their  fur  caps  far  to 
the  backs  of  their  heads.  The  big  horses  sweated 
along  the  trampled  logging-roads.  The  snow- 
weighted  branches  of  the  spruces  dripped  every 
day  from  ten  in  the  morning  until  three  in  the 
afternoon. 

The  great  drifts  along  the  river  and  in  the 
glades  and  clearings  of  the  forest  shrank  day 
by  day  and  each  night  took  on  a  more  glisten- 
ing shell  of  crust.  Black  crows  appeared,  caw- 
ing in  the  high  tops  of  the  spruces.  And  the 
spirit  of  awaking  filled  the  air. 

There  was  magic  in  it.  The  magic  showed 
in  a  softening  of  lines  in  David  Westley's 
tanned  face;  in  a  more  sprightly  note  in  Mr. 

S53 


itirli^. 


Vf 


254,      TWO    SHALL   BE    BORN 

Duff's  voice;  in  Pierre  MacKim's  appearance 
each  noon  before  the  door  of  his  mother's  cabin. 

Choppers  and  teamsters,  cooks,  "swami)ers," 
and  yard-tenders  sang  at  work.    The  fac- 

tor worked  less  steadi'  novels,  wrote 

some  verses,  and  wana^  >at  the  post.  The 

first  of  the  fur-takers  came  m  from  the  distant 
trapping-grounds — an  old  man  who  did  not  feel 
equal  to  waiting  for  the  killing  of  the  mus- 
quash at  the  season  of  flood-water.  Piles  of 
yellow  boards  and  heaps  of  yellow  sawdust 
grew  high  around  the  mill  day  by  day. 

Gabe  Bear,  coming  in  from  his  official  trip 
to  St.  Anne's,  reported  the  "Push-an'-be-darn" 
rapids  open  water  from  shore  to  shore.  Old 
Dominic  Benoit  sawed  away  at  his  fiddle  with 
his  back  to  the  stove  and  his  face  to  the  open 
door.  The  hammered  bottoms  of  the  logging- 
roads  began  to  rot  and  let  the  horses  through 
to  the  shoulder. 

The  heart  of  Marie  Benoit  drank  deep  of  tlie 
spirit  of  the  season,  awoke  from  its  winter 
sleep,  and  began  to  sing  a  new  song  all  of  its 
own.  The  heart  of  David  Westley  also  awoke ; 
but  it,  unlike  Marie's,  yearned  backward  on  its 
quest. 

Even  Dr.  Dixon  did  not  escape  the  magicai 
awakening  of  the  season.  Busy  as  he  was,  he 
went  one  evening  to  Dominic  Benoit's  cabin 
to  listen  to  that  old  humbug  play  on  his  fiddle. 


K*i 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN       255 

Marie  was  there— and  the  doctor,  after  all,  was 
only  two  years  out  of  McGill. 

Of  late  she  liad  found  the  nursing  of  Pierre 
but  dull  work,  and  it  may  bo  that  the  doctor 
had  found  things  a  trifle  dull,  too.  He  was 
rbarmed  with  Dominie's  fiddling  and  called  to 
hear  it  again  the  next  evening— and  the  next. 

David  Westley,  after  a  busy  day  at  the  camps 
and  a  late  dinner  with  the  factor,  looked  in 
at  Rosie's  cabin  for  a  chat  with  Pierre.  A  sens*^ 
of  disturbance  touched  him  as  he  entered.  Rosie 
looked  angry  and  Pierre's  thin  facp  was 
clouded. 

Pierre  sat  in  a  big  chair  that  David  had  sor- 
rowed for  him  from  the  factor's  house.  He  rose 
slowly,  for  he  was  still  weak,  and  extended  his 
hand.    Rosie's  face  Ughtened  at  sight  of  David. 

"What's  up?"  asked  Westley.  "Anything 
gone  wrong  r* 

"It  is  not  much,"  said  Pierre.  "It  is  only 
that  T  do  not  get  my  strength  back  so  quick  as 
I  want.  But  it  is  wrong  for  me  to  say  that, 
for  I'd  be  uiwJer  the  snow  now  but  for  you, 
boss." 

"There  is  plenty  gone  wrong,  monsieur"  ex- 
claimed Kosie.  "Oh,  I  tell  you,  gair,  it  is  not  the 
strength  that  make  my  boy  unhappy,  f  tell 
you  the  truth,  monsieur,  for  you  are  the  great 
man — the  master  of  this  country.  It  is  that  girl. 
I  tell  you,  Monsieur  le  Boss,  it  is  Marie." 


256 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 


"An'  I  beg  you,  my  good,  kind  friend,  dent 
listen  to  my  mother,"  cried  Pierre. 

"The  deuce !"  exclaimed  Westley,  accepting  a 
chair  from  Kosie.  "What  game  has  Marie 
been  up  to  now!" 

He  said  it  with  a  perfect  assurance  of  manner, 
but  in  the  back  of  his  heart  he  felt  misgivings, 
remembering  several  moments  of  weakness  and 
wondering  if  anything  of  these  had  come  at 
last  to  Pierre's  ears. 

"Oh,  she  is  a  mad  thing,"  replied  Rosie, 
gesturing  effectively  with  one  hand  and  a  fry- 
ing-pan. "She  is  not  steadfast.  Her  face  is 
too  pretty  a  thing— and  her  heart,  it  goes  like 
the  wind.  It  was  not  so  with  me,  monsieur, 
when  I  was  young  an'  so  pretty  as  Marie.  My 
heart,  was  it  not  steadfast?" 

"What  has  the  girl  done?"  asked  David, 
ready  for  the  worst.  "I— I  have  heard  nothing." 

"You,  monsieur!"  cried  Rosie.  "What  would 
you  hear  that  was  not  fair  to  your  poor  friend! 
What  you  see  that  was  not  good!  Oh,  I  know, 
monsieur.  I  have  the  eyes,  sharp  to  see.  But 
you— your  eyes  were  too  high.  You  overlooked 
her  head.  You  did  not  know.  Is  it  not  so,  mon- 
sieur?" 
"It  is  not  so,"  said  Pierre. 
"I  don't  know  what  you  are  driving  at," 
said  David. 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN      257 


"Then  I  tell  you.  She  have  a  wild  heart,  that 
girl,  an'  a  great  ambition.  She  look  at  Monsieur 
le  Factor;  but  Donal'  Grant,  he  see  no  farther 
past  his  nose,  monsieur. 

"So  she  content  herself  a  little  with  Pierre; 
and  his  head  go  'round.  Then  you  come,  mon- 
sienr — an'  oh,  she  never  yet  see  so  great  a  mon- 
sieur as  you  yourself.  But  you  see  only  the 
big  work,  an'  something  back  on  your  heart, 
an'  maybe  you  think  Marie  have  pretty  eyes — 
but  you  don't  care." 

David  felt  decidedly  uncomfortable  and 
burned  a  finger  in  trying  to  light  his  pipe. 
Pierre  groaned;  then  cried  out  that  his  mother 
had  no  right  to  talk  so. 

**So  she  content  herself  again,  a  little  with 
Pierre,"  continued  Rosie.  "Then  you  bring 
Monsieur  le  Doctor  to  save  the  life  of  Pierre. 
An'  now  that  girl,  she  set  her  heart  at  the 
doctor — an'  Pierre  sit  hei ;  in  his  chair,  an' 
what  can  he  do!" 

Westley's  sudden  relief  was  followed  by  dis- 
pleasure not  unmixed  with  amusement. 

"It  is  a  pity,"  he  said.  "But  I  think  Marie 
is — well,  a  good  girl.  Perhaps  her  heart  is 
not  very  steadfast,  as  you  say — but  plenty  of 
hearts  are  like  the  wind.  Pierre,  if  I  were  you 
I'd  either  stop  worrying  about  Marie  or  I'd 
go  look  for  a  less  attractive  face  and  a  more 


?- 

'<•' 


258      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 


li 


steadfast  heart.  I  am  sorry  for  you,  but,  upon 
my  soul,  I  don't  see  what  is  to  be  done  in  the 
matter." 

"I  think  a  man  is  just  a  fool  as  that — to  die 
because  his  girl  go  back  on  him,"  said  Rosie. 

"Let  us  hope  that  Pierre  is  not  quite  such  a 
fool  as  that,"  returned  David. 

"I  feel  pretty  bad,"  said  Pierre  weakly. 
'•Steve  Canadian,  he  cut  pretty  deep  with  that 
knife.  But  Marie,  sho  too  fine  a  girl  for  me, 
anyhow.  She  best  marry  some  fine  feller,  I 
guess — an'  some  feller  who  ain't  sick,  like  me." 

The  doctor  was  at  one  of  the  camps  that  even- 
ing, attending  to  a  man  who  had  shorn  off  a 
couple  of  toes  with  a  glancing  ax-blade. 

David  Westley  left  the  MacKim  cabin  early 
and  went  to  Dominic  Benoit's.  :Marie  opened 
the  door  to  him.  Her  dark  eyes  brightened  and 
her  high  color  faded  a  little  at  the  sight  of  the 
visitor,  ""'ie  old  man  sat  close  to  the  stove, 
with  his  id  Ve  in  his  lap.  David  sat  down  near 
Marie. 

He  talked  to  her  in  a  low  voice,  and  though 
he  stammered  a  great  deal  and  often  hung  fire 
for  a  word,  he  managed  to  put  the  case  straight 
to  her. 

"Of  course,  if  you  do  not  really  care  for 
Pierre,  he  must  take  his  chances — and  you  will 
oblige  me  by  forgetting  what  I  have  said,"  he 
concluded. 


SF^*Tvri«ffF^ 


-i^ . 


'a**^' 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN      259 

The  girl  began  to  weep  quietly.  Dominic 
blinked  his  eyes  at  her,  shot  a  corner- wise 
glance  at  Westley,  spat  at  the  front  of  the  stove, 
and  began  sawing  away  on  the  fiddle. 

Westley  puffed  steadily  on  his  pipe,  trying 
to  comfort  himself  with  the  reflection  that  he 
had  at  least  made  an  attempt  to  do  his  duty 
to  Pierre  MacKim.  He  turned  again  to  the 
sobbing  girl.  He  put  out  his  hand  and  toucht?d 
her  arm. 

"I  think  he  will  get  his  strength  back  if  he 
gets  happiness,"  he  said.  "But  you  must  be 
sure.  Do  not  do  as  I  have  asked  you  unless 
you  are  sure  of  yourself — or  until  you  are 
sure." 

For  a  moment  Marie  trembled  beneath  the 
light  but  firm  touch  of  his  hand.  Then,  sud- 
denly, as  if  with  sore  effort,  she  drew  away 
from  him.  For  an  instant  she  withdrew  her 
hands  from  her  face  and  her  black  eyes  flashed 
full  into  his. 

"I  love  Pierre — and  I  hate  you!"  she  whis- 
pered. 

David  reddened  and  his  jaw  slackened.  He 
had  not  expected  this. 

He  had  never  suspected  her  hate.  Far  from 
it.  What  had  he  ever  done  to  inspire  Marie 
Benoit's  hate?  He  stared  back  at  her  foolishly, 
but  she  only  hid  her  face  again.  He  looked 
at  old  Dominic,  but  that  worthy  was  ff  too 


"^^m. 


260      TWO    SHALI.    BE    BORN 


busily  engaged  with  his  fiddle  to  be  oi   any 

help. 

•♦I  am  sorry  yon  hate  me,"  said  David.  "I 
thought  we  were  very  good  friends.  But  I  am 
glad  that  you  feel  as  you  do  toward  poor  Mac- 
Kim — ^and  even  though  you  dislike  me  I  will 
do  as  I  have  said.  Pierre  MacKim  will  be  a 
big  man  in  this  country." 

"Go  back— to  that  girl— you  leave  in— New 
York,"  retorted  Marie  through  her  tear-wet 
fingers  and  between  her  sobs. 

Poor  David  sighed,  knocked  the  ashes  out  of 
his  pipe,  and  left  the  cabin.  He  reflected  bit- 
terly that  he  didn't  seem  to  know  how  tx)  get 
along  with  young  and  attractive  women,  even 
when  his  intentions  were  of  the  best.  He 
dropped  a  hint  to  Dr.  Dixon  next  morning. 

"It  isn*t  the  game  for  a  chap  like  you  to 
put  fool  ideas  into  the  head  of  a  girl  like 
Marie  Benoit,"  he  said. 

The  young  doctor  reddened,  then  whistled. 

"Ideas  be  darned,"  he  said;  and  then,  "Oh, 
well,  you  are  the  boss  here." 

Marie  spent  the  greater  part  of  the  next  day 
with  Pierre.  The  doctor  lost  his  interest  in 
Dominic's  music. 

David  tried  to  forget  what  the  girl  had  said 
to  him,  kept  out  of  her  way,  and  went  on  with 
his  work.  But  he  was  hurt  and  bewildered.  He 
described  the  interview  to  Donald  Grant,  and 


TWO   SHALL   BE    BORN      261 

the  factor-novelist  laughed  heartily  for  the  first 
time  in  weeks. 

Spring  arrived  full-blooded,  full-fledged,  with 
two  days  of  warm,  steady  rain  after  a  week  of 
steady  sunshine  and  south  winds.  The  big  river 
broke  its  shell  of  rotted  gray  ice.  Fed  by  all 
the  melted  snows  of  millions  of  acres  of  forest 
and  barren,  by  the  rain,  and  a  hundred  brooks 
and  little  rivers,  it  flooded  out  from  its  fast- 
nesses to  its  final  outlet  in  the  great  St  Law- 
rence. 

It  passed  Two  Moose  freighted  with  uprooted 
trees  and  fifty  miles  of  broken  ice.  It  flooded  the 
valleys  to  right  and  left  with  gray  water  and 
sodden  ice-pans.  It  snatched  away  thousands 
of  Westley's  logs  and  rushed  them  down  with 
the  grinding  ice  and  fragments  of  torn  forest. 

Twenty  of  Westley's  men  were  sent  down 
river  with  the  head  of  the  flood,  to  try  to  keep 
the  ice  and  logs  from  jambing  anywhere.  There 
were  several  bad  spots  in  the  course  of  Smoky, 
between  Two  Moose  and  St  Anne*s,  that  were 
sure  to  hold  all  the  logs  save  a  few  happening 
to  ride  on  the  very  crest  of  the  freshet. 

Westley  expected  to  have  to  blast  the  rocky 
bed  of  the  river  at  these  points,  after  the  water 
had  fallen,  before  he  could  get  his  "drive"  down 
to  the  big  mill  at  St.  Anne's.  But  this  jeai's 
flood  was  higher  than  usual  and  fully  two-thirds 
of  Westley's  "cut"  went  clean  through  on  the 


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262 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BCRN 


tail  of  the  ice  and  safel>'  into  the  booms  at  the 

mill  below. 

This  alone  put  the  winter's  operations  on  the 
right  side  of  the  ledger,  and  the  chances  were 
that  the  balance  of  the  lumber  would  be  ran 
safely  to  market  at  the  expense  of  a  little  dyna- 
mite. 

The  trappers  of  the  post  came  in  from  the 
west  and  north  and  northeast,  some  hauling 
sleds  over  the  last  skim  of  snow,  some  steering 
battered  canoes  down  the  swollen  streams,  and 
still  others  drifting  in  after  the  snow  had  all 
vanished  and  the  waters  were  subsiding,  with 
their  winter's  "take"  topped  off  with  muskrat 
skins. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

DAVID   MAKES   A  RESOLUTION 

On  the  day  following  his  talk  with  Dorothy 
Gordon,  on  the  gallery  of  the  big  hotel  in  Bar- 
bados, Walter  Joice  set  out  for  one  of  the 
other  islands.  He  could  not  make  up  his  mind 
as  to  where  to  go  or  what  to  do.  He  worked 
slowly  northward,  and  in  May  found  himself 
back  in  New  York. 

The  Gordons  remained  in  the  islands  until 
the  first  of  May,  and  then  sailed  straight  for 
home.  Dorothy's  spirits  had  shown  a  decided 
change  for  the  better  ever  since  her  last  meet- 
ing with  the  captain ;  but  of  what  she  had  heard 
of  David  Westley  she  said  nothing  to  her  father. 

She  had  to  discover,  once  and  for  all,  the 
truth  of  David  Westley's  heart,  and  she  was 
determined  not  to  let  anything  come  between 
her  plans  and  this  discovery.  She  could  not 
entertain  the  belief  for  a  moment  that  David 
had  ceased  to  love  her  or  had  forgotten  her. 

She  had  heard  something,  between  Joice's 
spoken  words,  that  had  renewed  her  hope.  What 
she  feared  was  her  father's  well-intentioned  but 
blundering  assistance. 

963 


-1 


264      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 


rn 


r 


She  must  go  to  David,  and  she  knew  that  this 
was  what  her  father  would  never  be  talked 
into  permitting.  So  she  made  her  plans  and 
kept  them  warm  and  secret  in  her  own  heart. 
It  was  not  until  early  in  June  that  she  made 
known  her  plans  to  her  brother  Tom.  Tom  con- 
sidered them  somewhat  fearfully  at  first,  but 
soon  with  enthusiasm. 

David  was  his  friend  and  one  of  his  heroes. 
He  had  flattered  himself  for  years  that  he 
understood  and  knew  the  real  David  better  than 
most  people.  Also,  he  agreed  with  Dorothy 
that  if  John  Angus  took  a  hand  in  the  game, 
which  was  a  delicate  one,  surely,  tact  would 
not  be  practised  and  temper  would  be  given  full 
swing — and  the  affair  would  be  damned  eter- 
nally. 

Tom  and  Dorothy  arranged  for  a  trip  north, 
for  the  fishing.  This  was  a  half-tmth,  and  the 
telling  of  it  to  their  father  hurt  their  tongues 
like  a  lie. 

The  old  man  agreed  to  the  arrangement  with- 
out a  murmur.  He  was  glad  to  hear  that  the 
girl  felt  an  interest  in  fishing — in  anything.  As 
he  could  not  go  himself,  because  of  a  pressure 
of  work  after  his  idle  winter,  he  trusted  her 
to  TOijQ  with  an  easy  heart. 

So  the  brother  and  sister  went  north.  In 
Quebec  they  perfected  their  plans.  A  few  days 
later,  in  that  town  in  which  David  had  bought 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN      265 

his  outfit  and  arranged  for  a  guide  the  previous 
autumn,  they  also  outfitted  for  the  wilderness. 

Up  in  David  Westley*s  country  men  were 
working  at  the  rock  bed  of  the  river.  The  mill 
buzzed  and  ripped  all  day  long,  shacks  were 
being  built  of  bright  new  lumber,  and  land  was 
being  cleared  and  burned,,  and  wheat  and  oats 
sown  in  the  ashes  among  the  stumps. 

David  himself  took  a  hand  in  everything, 
now  "sacking"  logs  along  the  river,  now  help- 
ing the  dynamiters  clear  the  stream  of  an  out- 
crop of  rocks,  and  sweating  in  the  blackened 
clearings  that  were  so  soon  to  flow  pale  green 
with  the  first  blade  of  the  first  harvest. 

Then,  very  suddenly  one  night,  while  he  was 
sitting  with  Duff  in  the  manager's  office,  some- 
thing that  had  stirred  within  him  more  than 
once  since  the  first  tremor  of  spring  found  its 
voice.  He  laid  his  pipe  on  the  corner  of  the 
table  and  looked  fixedly  at  Duff. 

"I  am  going  out,"  he  said.  "I  may  as  well 
start  in  the  morning." 

"Out!"  exclaimed  Duff,  with  consternation 
in  his  voice  and  round  face.  "Out  I  What  the 
deuce  do  you  mean?  You  wouldn't  drop  it  now?" 

"No  fear,"  returned  David.  "I'll  be  back 
within  the  month,  perhaps  sooner.  I  have 
something  to  see  to  in  New  York — something 
to  make  certain  of.  I  may  as  well  do  it  now 
as  later." 


m 


266      TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN 

"You'll  never  come  back,"  said  Duff  mourn- 
fully. "The  old  life  will  hold  you— and  this 
work  will  go  to  the  dogs.  Whatever  the  thing 
is  that  takes  you  out  will  keep  you  out." 

"No  danger  of  that,"  said  David,  laughing 
shortly.  "The  conditions  that  could  make  me 
stay  out  do  not  come  ii.  my  calculations  at  all. 
I  want  to  make  dead  sure  of  something  that 
I  am  not  quite  sure  of  now.  I'll  feel  easier 
if  I  know  the  worst — everything,  I  mean.  I 
can't  explain  it  to  you." 

"Am  I  to  go  on  with  this  job  if  you  don't 
come  back?"  asked  Duff. 

"I  mean  to  come  back,"  said  Westley. 

Westley  awoke  before  dawn  and  shaved  and 
dressed  by  lamplight.  He  breakfasted,  then 
opened  the  door  and  looked  out,  in  the  first 
light,  across  the  clearing  and  the  wide  river  to 
the  dean,  still  forests  beyond  and  the  dim  shapes 
of  the  hills. 

The  breath  of  the  awaking  world — of  morn- 
ing and  young  June — drifted  fresh  and  fra- 
grant against  his  face.  And  his  purpose  wav- 
ered a  little,  and  Duff's  words  of  gloom  rang  a 
ghost  of  an  echo  in  his  heart. 

"I  can  do  no  good  by  going,"  ho  murmured, 
"but  I  will  go." 

He  looked  at  his  watch.  The  men  and  the 
canoe  would  be  ready  in  half  an  hour.  His 
knapsack  and  bag  were  packed.    He  locked  the 


n 


(  il 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN      267 

door  and  carried  his  baggage  over  to  the  ve- 
randa of  the  factor's  house. 

It  was  here  he  had  told  the  canoemen  they 
should  find  it.  He  lit  his  pipe,  and  then  a 
casual  glance  along  the  side  of  the  house  showed 
him  the  comer  of  a  curtain  suddenly  let  fall. 

Wondering  what  Grant  was  up  to  at  so  early 
an  nour,  he  went  to  the  front  door  and  knocked 
briskly.  Grant  himself  opened  the  door.  He 
showed  a  face  of  consternation  in  the  growing 
light.  He  dashed  out  a  hand  and  yanked  his 
visitor  into  the  hall,  then  shut  the  door  swiftly 
and  softly. 

"What  the  deuce  is  the  matter  nowT*  asked 
David. 

"Did  you  see  Steve  Canadian  hanging  round 
outside!"  whispered  the  factor,  with  trembling 
hands  on  the  other's  arm. 

"No,"  replied  David.  "Steve  Canadian  hasn't 
come  back— and  never  will.  What's  the  matter 
with  you!" 

"He  is  back,"  said  Grant.  "Lord,  man,  don't 
I  know!  And  here  I  am,  caught  like  a  rat  in 
a  trap  I  If  he  had  waited  a  little  longer  I'd 
have  given  him  the  slip.  But  I  haven't  the 
money.  The  publisher  will  be  sending  it  soon. 
Heaven!  to  be  caught  like  this,  just  for  want 
of  a  little  money!" 

"You'd  better  sit  down  and  cool  off,"  said 
David,  "and  tell  me  about  it.     Why  do  you 


lilt 


268      TWO    S   ^ALL    BE    BORN 

think  Steve  Canadian  is  back? — and  why  are 
you  in  such  a  funk?  The  man  can't  touch  you. 
He  can't  harm  your  future." 

"I  saw  him,"  said  the  factor.  "I  awo]-e  early 
and  looked  out  of  the  window — bedroom  win- 
dow— and  saw  him  sneaking  around.  Then  I 
came  downstairs  and  loaded  my  revolver,  to  be 
ready  for  him." 

"You  are  a  coward,"  sai     "^avid. 

"He  means  to  kill  me.  ^ut,  by  Heaven,  I'll 
kill  him  this  time." 

"You  are  crazy." 

"No,  I  am  not,"  retorted  Grant.  "I  may  be 
a  coward,  but  I'm  not  crazy." 

He  told  Westley  of  what  had  happened  that 
night  in  the  woods. 

"You  did  the  right  thing  when  you  let  him 
have  it,"  said  "Westley,  "but  why  didn't  you  tell 
me  about  it,  instead  of  worrying  over  it  like 
this?  Yon  have  been  tearing  your  nerves. 
Grant.  But  are  you  suie  it  was  Canadian  you 
saw  this  morning?  It  might  have  been  one  of 
my  men." 

"It  was  Canadian,"  replied  Grant.  "Of 
course,  I  couldn't  see  his  face — and  the  chances 
are  that — that  his  face  is  not  as  it  used  to  be. 
Heaven,  the  fellow  must  have  nine  lives." 

David  heard  footsteps  on  the  floor  of  the 
veranda.    He  shoved  the  factor  into  the  sitting- 


n 


TWO    SHALL    Bx.    BORN      269 

room  and  opened  the  door.  His  two  half-breed 
canoemen  stood  there. 

"I'm  not  going  out  this  morning,"  he  said. 
"Take  these  things  over  to  my  shack." 

He  returned  to  Grant  for  a  moment,  told  him 
not  to  -worry,  and  then  followed  the  men  over 
to  his  cabin.  He  decided  to  postpone  his  trip 
back  to  civilization  until  after  he  had  settled 
this  affair  of  the  bad  Indian. 

As  neither  the  factor  nor  the  police  seemed 
able  to  deal  with  Steve,  it  was  evidently  up  to 
him  to  put  that  rascal  out  of  the  way  of  future 
mischief.  He  said  nothing  to  Duff  about 
Grant's  fear  that  Steve  had  returned,  but  he 
kept  within  close  touch  wiiii  the  post  all  day. 

He  saw  and  heard  nothing  of  the  bad  man. 
After  his  lonely  supper  (the  doctor  was  at  one 
of  the  camps),  Pierre  came  over  to  see  him. 
Pierre  was  greatly  improved  in  health  and 
spirits,  though  he  was  still  weak.  He  could  not 
walk  a  short  distance  without  the  help  of  his 
itick.  He  came  to  talk  about  the  past  and  the 
future  and  to  thank  David  for  all  his  kind- 
nesses. 

David  at  last  managed  to  swing  the  conversa- 
tion away  from  his  own  virtues.  They  smoked 
—and  in  time,  both  fell  silent.  The  shaded 
lamp  on  the  table  of  unpainted  deal  threw  a 
circumscribed  patch  of  light  straight  down  and 


270      TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 


no  farther  out  than  the  edges  of  the  table.  Both 
men  sat  in  the  outer  shadow. 

The  night  wafi  dark  but  warm.  The  window 
stood  open  and  the  door  hung  on  its  wooden 
latch.  On  the  table,  fair  in  the  circle  of  yellow 
light,  lay  six  or  eight  hundred  dollars  in  paper 
and  gold— money  which  Westley  had  com- 
menced to  count  and  arrange  for  pay-day  before 
Pierre's  arrival. 

The  men  had  been  silent  and  motionless  for 
about  fifteen  minutes  when  a  slight  sound  on 
the  floor  caused  Westley  to  shake  his  dreams 
and  turn  his  head.  And  Pierre,  who  sat 
nearer  to  the  table,  lool.ed  up  at  the  same  mo- 
ment. There,  leaning  forward  out  of  the  shadow, 
with  one  hand  about  to  descend  upon  the  money, 
stood  a  man. 

A  little  shaft  of  light  beating  straight  up  fiom 
the  top  of  the  lamp  touched  his  face.  It  was  the 
sight  of  this  face  that  held  David  in  his  chair 
as  if  spellbound.  There  was  only  one  eye  in 
the  face — one  red,  devilish  eye  glaring  down 
at  the  money.  The  other  eye  was  lost  in  a 
ragged  red  scar.  No,  it  vzas  still  more  of  a 
wound  than  a  scar.  The  nose  was  broken 
hideously. 

Both  David  and  Pierre  sat  motionless  in 
their  chairs,  horror-stricken.  The  hand  fell 
upon  a  jeap  of  green  paper.  Then  the  red 
eye  turned  and  encountered  David's  horrified 


^1 


David  wrenched  and  swung  with  all  his  strength. 
(Page  ;7i.) 


rr\ 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN      271 


regard.  It  moved  no  farther.  The  other  hand 
shot  out  of  the  shadow  witii  a  bared  knife  in  it. 
But  quick  as  hand  and  knife  were,  Pierre  Mac- 
Kim  was  quicker. 

The  frail  body  that  had  come  so  slowly  and 
haltingly  across  the  clearing  a  few  hours  be- 
fore now  flashed  forward  as  '  it  were  all  fire 
and  sinew.  The  two  bodies  ^eled  and  spun 
about  like  one,  and  the  only  sour.J  they  made 
was  their  heavy  breathing.  The  knife,  striving 
and  twisting  behind  Pierre's  back  for  a  chance 
to  strike,  £a  .hed  and  darkened  and  flashed 
again  in  the  yellow  light.  An  elbow  had  struck 
up  the  green  shade  of  the  lamp. 

The  fighters  reeled  against  the  edge  of  the 
table.  Then  David  Westley  recovered  from 
his  astonishment  and  horror,  sprang  around 
the  table,  with  his  left  hand  gripped  the  menac- 
ing wrist  and  with  his  right  shot  across  Pierre's 
shoulder  and  caught  Stove  Canad'  '  by  the 
throat 

He  was  not  a  second  too  soon,  for  on  the 
instant  Pierre  went  limp  and  himg  like  a  dead 
thing  in  his  enemy'.-  i.vms.  )>avid  wrenched 
and  swung  with  all  nis  strength.  Pierre  slid 
to  the  floor,  encumbering  Canadian's  feet. 

The  bad  Indian  lost  his  balance,  and  David 
flung  him  clear  of  the  floor  and  half-way  across 
the  table.  Over  went  table  and  lamp,  with  the 
money  clattering  broadcast  and    the    cursing 


272      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

murderer  riding  the  crest  of  the  ruin.  The 
room  winked  black  for  a  second  or  two,  then 
showed  the  flickering,  crawling  flame  of  the 
broken  lamp  upon  the  floor. 

David,  his  blood  thoroughly  up,  sprang  for- 
ward in  the  darkness.  A  gust  of  outer  air 
puffed  upon  him  and  then  the  door  banged  in 
his  face.  He  turned  and  gave  aU  his  attention 
to  the  spilled  and  burning  oil. 


■"i 
■1 


f    » 


CHAPTER   XX 


**UP  STREAM   OR   DOWN?" 

Steve  Canadian  did  not  wait  to  learn  what 
damage  he  had  done  to  Pierre  MacK'^,  or  to 
settle  his  score  with  Donald  Grant.  Throat 
and  wrist  ached  from  the  grip  of  David  West- 
ley's  fingers. 

In  that  brief,  wild  struggle  he  had  read  all 
iJat  he  cared  to  know  of  the  big  American's 
character,  and  fear  had  singed  him.  He  knew 
that  from  now  on  there  would  be  no  rest  for 
his  feet,  no  hiding-place  for  his  head  within 
a  hundred  miles  of  Two  Moose. 

He  snatched  his  rifle  froir.  the  outer  wall  be- 
side the  door  and  ran  down  to  the  river.  Launch- 
ing the  first  canoe  he  came  to,  he  put  out  upon 
the  black  river.  He  paddled  and  drifted  with 
the  current,  keeping  close  to  the  left  shore.  So 
for  a  couple  of  hours ;  and  then,  during  one  of 
his  periods  of  silent  drifting,  he  heard  the  dip 
and  drip  of  a  paddle  in  front  of  hun,  coming 
slowly  nearer  in  the  black  shadow  of  the  wooded 
bank. 

At  that  sound  he  stilled  his  very  breath,  and 

873 


ifc^iai; 


F; 


ii       if 


274      TWO    SHALL    BE   BORN 

every  muscle  became  motionless  and  tense. 
Rag*>  got  the  better  of  fear  in  his  heart.  He 
was  desperate,  beaten,  outcast,  stripped  to  the 
bone.  He  had  failed  in  his  mission  of  revenge 
and  his  attempt  at  robbery. 

His  pockets  were  empty — and  here,  coming 
upstream  to  him  in  the  dark,  was  Gabe  Bear 
with  the  mail-bag  for  Two  Moose.  There 
would  be  money  in  that  bag,  he  felt  sure — one 
or  more  express  packets  of  money  addressed  to 
David  Westley. 

So  he  listened  intently,  getting  the  exact 
position  of  the  imseen  canoe  by  the  sound  of 
the  dipping  paddle.  Then  he  slipped  the  blade 
of  his  own  paddle  into  the  water,  sv*nng  the 
bow  shoreward  a  little,  and  stroked  without 
so  much  as  the  ghost  of  a  sound. 

The  night  was  dark,  and  in  the  shadow  of  the 
wooded  bank  river  and  air  were  black  as  the 
pit.  Steve  turned  his  canoe  until  he  was  headed 
upstream  and  a  little  toward  the  left  shore. 
He  put  out  his  hand  and  touched  the  bow  of 
the  other  canoe. 

He  edged  it  shoreward,  very  gently,  main- 
taining his  own  position  by  working  his  paddle 
cautiously  and  silently  with  his  left  hand.  The 
progress  of  the  mail-runner's  canoe  was  slightly 
retarded  and  its  course  altered  to  a  marked 
degree.  Gabe  tried  to  swing  back  to  his  course. 
He  did  not  speak,  for  he  had  heard  many  stories 


TWO    SHALL   BE    BORN      275 

of  the  evil  spirits  of  the  river,  and  the  playful 
spirits  thereof,  and  took  every  one  of  them  for 
gospel. 

It  was  death  to  a  mortal  to  exchange  so  much 
as  one  word  with  any  spirit  of  the  river.  The 
best  thing  he  could  do— the  only  thing,  was  to 
keep  on  paddling  and  hope  that  the  spirit  that 
had  laid  hold  of  the  bow  of  his  canoe  was  of 
the  playful  variety.  And  now  both  canoes 
swung  around  and  drifted  down  the  stream. 

Steve  guessed  what  was  in  the  other's  mind 
and  rejoiced  at  it.  The  canoes  touched  the  shore. 
Then  Steve  yanked  the  trembling  Gabe  to  the 
rocks,  flung  him  down,  gagged  and  bound  him. 

By  the  light  of  matches  he  found  a  packet  of 
money  and  a  bottle  of  whisky.  He  tasted  the 
whisky  and  found  it  good.  He  drank  deep,  and 
the  glow  of  it  went  up  swiftly  into  his  brain. 
He  lifted  Gabe  Bear  into  Gabe's  own  canoe,  still 
bound  and  gagged,  and  launched  him  upon  the 
black  stream. 

"You'd  best  git  back  to  where  you  come 
from,"  he  said. 

He  flung  the  heavy  leather  maD-bag  into 
the  water,  shouldered  Gabe's  kit  and  followed 
the  vanished  canoe  and  voyager  downstream, 
a-f oot,  leaving  his  own  canoe  lying  on  the  rocks, 
half  in  and  half  out  of  the  water. 

"When  that  Westley  finds  the  canoe  he'll  say 
I  take  to  the  woods,"  he  said. 


■  II 


276      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 


■. ! : 


In  the  meantime  Dorothy  and  Tom  Gordon 
had  reached  St.  Anne's  and  found  a  guide  and 
a  canoe.  This  guide  was  a  wnite  man — out- 
sid3.  He  had  been  born  right  in  St.  Anne's  (so 
he  said),  but  had  been  wandering  about  the 
world  for  the  past  twelve  or  fifteen  years. 

It  was  evident  that  he  had  not  prospered  in 
the  outer  world.  He  agreed  to  take  the  pair 
up  to  the  post,  supply  the  canoe,  and  do  the 
cooking  as  well  as  the  "heft"  of  the  canoe  work, 
for  the  moderate  return  of  three  dollars  a  day. 

The  Gordons  were  in  too  great  a  hurry  to  get 
away  on  the  last  and  most  picturesque  stage  of 
their  journey  to  pay  any  attention  to  the  face 
of  their  guide.  They  started  upstream  at 
daybreak.  Dorothy  took  Tom's  place  in  the 
bow  of  the  .anoe,  when  they  re-embarked  after 
dinner,  and  paddled  eagerly. 

Towly,  the  guide,  kept  in  the  stern  of  the 
canoe,  sometimes  kneeling  and  plying  the  pad- 
dle, at  other  times  standing  and  surging  on 
the  long  pole  of  white  spruce.  He  said  little, 
but  watched  the  face  of  whichever  one  of  his 
employers  sat  facing  him  with  veiled  eyes  and 
a  twisted  mouth. 

He  was  a  good  canoeman,  artful  and  strong. 
The  first  day's  progress  was  entirely  satisfac- 
tory, and  the  first  night  passed  without  ac- 
cident. Dorothy  occupied  a  small  "V"  tent 
and  Tom  and  the  guide  an  open-faced  lean-to. 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN      277 


They  were  off  again  before  sunrise,  Dorothy 
and  Tom  in  high  spirits,  and  Towly  as  silent 
as  before,  but  showing  a  litt'e  more  alertness 
about  the  eyes. 

One  portage  was  made  that  day  and  some 
swift  water  was  climbed.  Again  camp  was 
made  and  the  evening  meal  cooked  and  eaten. 
All  retired  early  to  their  blankets. 

Tom  awoke  in  the  first  gray  pallor  of  dawn 
and  sat  up  with  a  sharp  sense  of  calamity. 
Towly  and  his  blankets  were  gone.  He  lit  a 
match  and  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  four 
o'clock.  Throwing  aside  his  blankets  he  passed 
the  fallen  camp-fire  and  went  over  to  Dorothy's 
tent. 

Peeping  through  the  laced  flap  he  saw  that 
she  was  sleeping  soundly.  He  looked  around 
for  the  guide,  and  listened  for  the  thump  of  the 
ax.  He  saw  nothing  of  him,  however,  and  heard 
no  sounds  of  chopping.  The  light  grew ;  and  he 
saw,  with  a  catch  in  his  throat,  that  the  canoe 
was  not  on  the  bank  where  it  had  been  left  the 
night  before. 

And  where  was  the  dunnage?  The  camp  wore 
an  air  of  desolation.  He  ran  to  the  edge  of 
the  water  and  gazed  up  and  down  the  bank 
and  the  misty  stream  for  the  canoe  and  Towly. 

The  crawling  mists  of  the  night  hid  the  mid- 
dle of  the  river,  and  perhaps  the  canoe  as  well. 
He  reflected  that  the  guide  may  have  gone  out 


1^' 


278      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

to  catch  some  trout  for  breakfast;  but,  on  sec- 
ond thought,  why  should  he  take  the  dunnage 
with  him?  His  throat  felt  pinched  and  dry.  He 
searched  the  camp,  swiftly  and  silently. 

Of  the  provisions  that  had  been  placed  be- 
side the  lean-to  nothing  remained  but  a  small 
jar  of  sliced  bacon  that  had  evidently  slipped 
from  the  Y  ig.  Then  he  remembered  that  a 
twenty-pound  bag  of  flour  had  been  put  in 
Dorothy's  tent,  by  the  girl  herself,  for  fear 
of  dews.  He  peeped  into  the  tent  again  and 
saw  his  sister  sitting  up  and  staring  at  him. 

"Is  the  flour  there?"  he  asked,  his  voice 
somewhat  husky. 

"Yes,  it  is  here,"  she  replied.  "Is  Towly 
thinking  of  frying  pancakes  for  breakfast?" 

"He  has  gone  off  somewhere  with  the  canoe 
—and  with  most  of  the  grub,'"  returned  Tom, 
dully.  "Perhaps  he's  gone  fishing— but  what 
would  he  want  of  the  grub?" 

Dorothy  sprang  to  her  feet  and  hastily  un- 
fastened the  flap  of  the  tent.  Her  face  was 
pale  and  her  eyes  flashed. 

"He  has  deserted  us,"  she  cried.  "We  should 
have  kiiown  that  he  was  not  to  be  trusted  by 
his  eyes  and  mouth.  What  else  has  he  taken? 
He  would  not  desert  us  with  nothing  but  a 
little  food  and  his  own  canoe,  you  may  be 
sure.  Is  your  money  safe?" 
"The  wad  is  gone,"   said  Tom,  feeling  in 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN      279 

every  pocket.  "By  thunder,  the  bounder  has 
cleaned  me  outl  But  the  money  wouldn't  be 
of  any  use  to  us  just  now.  anyway.  The  canoe 
and  tiie  grub  are  the  things  we  can't  do  with- 
out." 

"Have  you  looked  everywhere  for  the  grub — 
and  the  canoe?"  she  asked. 

"Everywhere,"  he  replied,  and  showed  her 
the  jar  of  bacon. 

"We'll  wait  for  a  couple  of  hours,  Dot,  and 
then  start  back  for  St.  Anne's  on  foot,"  he 
said.  "It's  the  only  thing  for  us  to  do.  We 
have  enough  grub  to  last  us  back  to  the  village. 
It'U  be  hard  walking." 

Dorothy  was  silent  for  a  moment,  staring 
about  the  camp  and  out  at  the  mist  on  the 
brightening  river  with  delBant  eyes.  Her 
smooth,  white  forehead  was  clouded  with 
thought.  Her  beautiful  hnr  fell  about  her 
shou.lders. 

She  wore  the  long  garment  of  fine  blanket 
in  which  she  had  slept,  and  her  small,  white 
feet  shone  in  the  dew  of  the  moss  like  new 
ivory.  There  was  no  sign  of  fear  in  face  or 
attitude.  At  last,  after  questioning  wood  and 
stream,  her  brow  cleared.  Her  eyos  met  Tom's 
anxious  gaze.  She  stepped  up  to  him  and 
placed  her  hands  on  his  arm. 

"We  have  food  enough,"  she  said.  "We  can 
catch  plenty  of  trout— and  we  have  the  flour. 


m 


280      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

and  bacon,  and  a  packet  of  tea— our  special 
tea.  We  are  almost  half-way  to  Two  Moose, 
if  the  distance  is  seventy  miles,  as  we  have  been 
told.    So  I  think  we  may  as  well  go  on." 

"Go  on,"  said  Tom,  dully.  "We  haven't 
made  more  than  thirty  miles,  I  think— and  that 
would  give  us  forty  miles  to  go.  Ten  more 
than  if  we  beat  back  for  the  village.  Ten  miles! 
Dot,  I  think  we  had  better  try  to  shake  that 
extra  ten.    The  walking  isn't  easy." 

«I  want  to  go  right  on,"  returned  the  girl. 
"We  have  food  enough,  if  we  can  catch  a  few 
fish  every  evening.  My  rod  and  tackle  are  in 
my  tent.  I  want  to  get  to  Two  Moose— and 
I  don't  mean  to  be  turned  by  a  matter  of  ten 
extra  miles.  We  can  walk  forty  as  well  as  we 
can  thirty." 

"Confound  that  beast!"  cried  Tom,  his  smol- 
dering anger  suddenly  bursting  into  flame.  "If 
I  had  him  here  I'd  break  his  dirty  neck  I" 

"Please  make  up  the  fire  and  put  on  the  ket- 
tle while  I  dress,"  said  Dorothy  quietly.  "See, 
there  is  the  kettle  hanging  on  that  little  birch. 
I'm  glad  he  overlooked  it." 

She  went  into  her  tent  and  Tom  threw  some 
bark  and  dry  branches  on  the  red  coals  at  the 
heart  of  the  fire.  He  then  found  that  his  belt-ax 
had  not  been  taken  by  the  robber,  and  that  his 
water-tight  box  of  matches  was  full  and  safe. 

By  this  time  the  mist  was  nearly  all  gone 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN      281 


from  the  sliding  face  of  the  river,  and  the  first 
sun-rays  were  flooding  in  over  the  eastern 
forests.  He  chopped  and  split  some  wood,  built 
up  the  fire,  and  filled  and  hung  the  kettle. 

Then  he  wandered  up  the  shore  for  a  few 
hundred  yards,  and  down  it,  gazing  helplessly 
at  wood  and  river  and  cursing  the  unspeakable 
Towly.  For  himself  it  was  no  great  matter. 
He  was  strong  and  fit  and  more  or  less  ac- 
customed to  roughing  it;  but  when  he  pictured 
that  struggle  afoot  through  the  forest  and  along 
the  ragged  edge  of  the  river  for  Dorothy — 
through  tough  underbrush,  and  over  and  under 
crisscrossed  windfalls,  and  through  all  manner 
of  swamps  and  bogs — ^he  gii>wed  with  rage 
and  chilled  with  apprehension. 

He  was  disgnisted  with  events  and  himself. 
He  should  not  have  trusted  Towly.  He  should 
not  have  engaged  a  man  with  such  a  bad 
eye.  Thirty  miles  downstream,  forty  miles  up- 
stream. 

He  struggled  with  the  problem  and  the  choice. 
He  knew  that  his  sister  w£.3  as  good  for  the 
forty  as  for  the  thirty;  but  he  wondered  if 
her  health  and  strength  were  equal  to  either 
journey.  He  returned  to  camp  and  found  the 
tea  ready  and  a  few  slices  of  bacon  frying  on  a 
hot  stone. 

Dorothy  was  bright  as  a  cricket.  She  had 
made  a  pack  of    the    bag    of  flour  and  the 


282      TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 


IJ 


II  ■  <  ■ 


i  j  J  i 


blankets,  for  Tom,  and  another  of  the  belt-ax, 
fishing-rod,  and  her  own  clothing  for  herself. 

"Up  or  down?"  asked  Tom,  after  breakfast, 
swinging  his  small  pack  to  his  shoulder. 

"Up,"  she  said. 

"Well,  Dot,  though  we'll  regret  these  extra 
ten  miles  when  we  come  to  them,  I  can't  help 
admiring  your  pluck." 

"Pluck,"  she  said,  smiling  a  trifle  wanly.  "My 
dv.ar  boy,  deciding  to  start  upon  the  first  stage 
of  the  journey,  by  parlor-car  from  New  York, 
required  more  pluck  than  this." 

The  day  was  fine  and  not  too  warm,  and  for 
several  miles  they  had  fairly  clear  footing 
along  the  edge  of  the  sliding  current.  Later, 
a  steep  bank,  without  foothold,  forced  them 
back  into  the  brush  for  a  short  distance. 

Dorothy  set  the  pace,  in  spite  of  Tom's  ob- 
jections, and  would  not  relinquish  the  lead. 
She  was  light  on  her  feet  and  possessed  of 
more  endurance  +^an  Tom  had  suspected.  The 
pace  that  she  set  was  quite  fast  enough  for 
the  young  man.  They  camped  at  noon,  ate, 
and  rested  for  an  hour.  Tom  took  the  lead 
after  lunch,  and  they  struggled  slowly  through 
several  miles  of  wind-torn,  fire-scarred  land. 

They  i[,sued  from  that  piece  of  wilderness 
considerably  the  worse  for  wear.  They  rested 
several  times  during  the  afternoon,  and  bathed 
their  hands  and  faces  in  the  river.    Black-flies, 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN      .68 

caribou-flies,  sand-flies,  and  mosquitoes  were 
all  attentive  and  active. 

Their  supply  of  fly-oil,  for  the  protection 
of  their  hands  and  faces,  had  been  taken  by 
Towly.  Tom  lit  smudges  whenever  they  stopped 
to  rest.  By  sundown  Dorothy  was  limping  a 
little,  and  her  face  was  specked  with  blood; 
but  her  temper  was  unruffled. 

As  they  had  left  their  tents  behind  them,  to 
save  their  backs,  Tom  made  camp  in  the  open, 
on  beds  of  spruce-boughs  beside  a  roaring  fire 
that  held  the  flies  of  all  varieties  at  bay. 


I, 


x:jhapter  XXI 


THE  CANOE 


,Ki 


ii 


M 


Dorothy  and  Tom  awoke  next  morning  to 
find  every  muscle  cramped  and  every  bone 
weary  and  their  eyes  almost  closed  by  the 
swelling  bites  and  stings  of  the  flies. 

"Easy  does  it,"  said  Tom.  "I  think  we'd  be 
wise  to  stay  in  camp  until  noon.  You  look  .iust 
about  all  in." 

"We  must  press  forward  while  we  can,"  said 
Dorothy.  "It  does  not  matter  about  being 
tired.  The  flies  are  the  things  that  I  am  afraid 
of;  and  I  think  we  had  better  get  to  the  post 
before  we  are  poisoned." 

Dorothy  had  her  way,  and  they  limped  out 
of  camp  after  an  early  and  simple  repast  of 
stoned-fried  bacon  and  fried  dough.  Dorothy 
would  not  wait  even  long  enough  for  Tom  to 
cast  for  a  couple  of  trout. 

They  followed  a  portage-track  around  a  roar- 
ing fall.  They  moved  slowly  and  painfully, 
fighting  flies  with  their  free  hands,  crushing 
the  pests  where  they  found  them,  and  so  smear- 
ing their  necks  and  faces  with  their  own  blood. 

384 


kl 


TWO   SHALL   BE    BORN      285 

Dorothy's  skirts  were  in  ribbons,  in  spite  of 
the  fact  that  they  were  all-wool  and  very  short, 
and  her  high-laced  boots  were  scratched  and 
cut.  She  stumbled  once  on  the  narrow,  rocky 
trail  of  the  portage.  They  rounded  the  head 
of  rough  water  at  last  and  limped  down  to  the 
river. 

They  knelt  at  the  edge  of  the  cool,  swift 
water  and  splashed  themselves  from  head  to 
foot ;  and  still  the  flies  hummed  and  sang  around 
them  in  clouds.  Dorothy  removed  her  shoes 
and  stockings  and  bathed  her  feet.  She  showed 
a  couple  of  blisters  which  Tom  operated  upon 
successfully  with  a  needle  that  Towly  had 
thoughtfully  left  them. 

After  a  brief  rest  they  continued  their  jour- 
ney, keeping  close  to  the  edge  of  the  river, 
along  a  narrow  strip  of  pebbles.  They  soon 
came  to  a  rocky  point,  around  which  they 
scrambled  with  difficulty,  and  to  a  small  cove 
beyond. 

The  current  had  gnawed  its  way  tar  into  the 
bank  at  this  point;  and  Tom  groaned  when 
he  saw  that  they  would  lose  several  hundred 
yards  in  getting  around  it. 

"Look  at  that !"  cried  Dorothy.  "Look  there ! 
A  canoe!" 

Tom  let  fall  his  pack  and  cleared  his  face  of 
flies  with  both  hands.    Yes,  there  lay  a  canoe. 


im 


r!« 


: 

If  >.»  ' 


286      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

in  shallow  water,  caught  between  two  stranded 
logs  in  the  back-water  of  the  cove. 

"Yes,  it's  a  canoe.  Thank  God  for  that!"  he 
exclaimed. 

"There  is  something  in  it!"  cried  Dorothy. 
"Come  quick !  It  is  something  alive — and  bound 
down.    It  is  a  man!" 

They  hastened  over  the  tumbled  rocks  and 
bruising  pebbles  to  the  inner  pocket  of  the  cove, 
where  the  canoe,  logs,  and  drift-stuff  lay  strand- 
ed within  a  few  hundred  yards  of  the  roar- 
ing falls  below. 

The  girl  halted  within  a  few  steps  of  the 
canoe  and  turned  away  from  it. 

"You  look,"  she  whispered.  "I  am  afraid. 
Who  is  it?" 

Tom  splashed  out  heavily  and  laid  hold  of 
the  gunwale  of  the  light  craft.  He  cleared  his 
eyes  of  the  stinging  sweat  and  looked  within. 

Yes,  it  was  a  man,  bound  hand  and  foot, 
lying  face  down  in  the  bottom  of  the  canoe — 
mercifully  face  down.  He  struggled,  lay  still 
for  a  few  seconds,  then  struggled  again.  His 
hands,  bound  at  the  small  of  his  back  by  the 
wrists,  were  black  with  flies  and  red  with 
blood  and  swollen  to  the  size  of  great  gloves. 
For  a  second  or  two  Tom  Gordon  stared  into 
the  canoe,  horror-stricken. 

He  recovered  his  wits  with  an  oath,  ripped 


IPii"^ 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN       287 

out  a  knife  and  cut  the  blood-soaked  thongs  at 
the  stranger's  wrists.  The  swollen,  blackened 
hands  slid  like  dead  things  from  the  quivering 
back  to  the  shelter  of  the  quivering  sides. 

Then  Tom  found  other  thongs  and  cut  them. 
Then  he  splashed  water  into  the  canoe,  and 
shouted  to  the  stranger  that  all  was  well. 

"Who  is  it?"  cried  Dorothy.  "And  what 
is  the  matter  with  him?" 

Gabe  Bear  struggled  like  a  worm,  tamed  him- 
self over  at  last,  and  sat  up  slowly.  One  eye 
was  closed  by  a  cut  above  it,  received  when 
Steve  Canadian  had  thrown  him  down  upon  the 
rocks  the  night  before.  But,  thanks  to  Steve's 
oversight  in  binding  him  face  downward,  the 
flies  had  been  forced  to  content  themselves  with 
his  hands,  wrists,  and  neck. 

"My  Lord,  you  don't  happen  'long  any  too 
soon,"  he  said. 

His  voice  was  no  more  than  a  cracked  whis- 
per, for  his  jaws  were  stiff  to  breaking  and  his 
tongue  swollen  from  the  gag.  He  gazed  from 
one  to  the  other  with  his  single  open  eye. 

"Gimme  a  drink,"  he  said.  He  drank  greed- 
ily out  of  Tom's  felt  hat.  Then  he  leaned 
over  one  gunwale  of  the  canoe  and  plunged 
his  poor,  bloated  hands  into  the  water. 

Dorothy,  watching  with  eyes  wide  and  shad- 
owed with  pity,  turned  suddenly  to  Tom,  clasped 


•1  f 

t4  >  r 


s:4  ad 


h  i» 


'1 


288      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

him  around  the  neck,  and  began  to  cry.  Tom 
was  staggered.  He  braced  himself  to  support 
and   comfort  her. 

"The  canoe,"  she  sobbed.  "Now  we  have  a 
canoe  again.  We  do  not  have  to  walk  another 
step — except  around  the  rapids." 

Tom  had  been  too  greatly  astonished  and 
horror-stricken  to  think  of  what  the  canoe 
meant  to  himself  and  his  sister. 

Dazed  with  the  raw  shock  and  wonder  of  re- 
cent events,  half  sickened  with  the  stings  of 
insects,  he  had  seen  nothing  but  the  poor  fellow 
whom  he  had  loosed  from  the  thongs.  Now 
he  shouted  with  the  joy  of  vast  relief,  and  flung 
his  arms  around  Dorothy.  They  clung  to  one 
another,  their  hearts  swelling  with  thankful- 
ness at  this  sudden  turn  of  fortune. 

"What  a  thing  to  cry  about!"  exclaimed  Tom, 
laughing  wildly. 

The  man  in  the  canoe  stared  at  them  with  his 
one  serviceable  eye. 

F  s  dusky  face  was  colorless,  and  he  leaned 
weakly  against  the  middle  bar  of  the  canoe,  with 
his  hands  hanging  into  the  water  over  the 
gunwale.  For  a  minute  he  neither  spoke  nor 
blinked,  staring  at  his  deliverers.  He  could 
not  make  them  out — that  beautiful,  tattered 
young  woman  who  was  not  of  the  country,  and 
that  big,  unusual  young  man. 

"Quit  it,"  he  said  at  last.    "You  holler  too 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN      289 

soon,  maybe.  My  name  Gabe  Bear.  I  run 
the  mails — an'  las'  night  I  get  robbed  an'  set 
to  drif  downstream  an'  over  the  fall.  You 
bes'  quit  laughin'  an'  hollerin'  an'  git  into  this 
here  canoe.  I  guess  you  frien's  of  David? 
Quicker  you  git  to  the  post  better  for  you.  Quit 
yer  kissin'." 

Tom  retraced  his  steps  for  a  short  distance 
and  picked  up  the  flour,  blankets,  and  fishing- 
rod.  Dorothy  dried  her  eyes  and  laughed  at 
Gabe  Bear. 

"That  is  my  brother,"  she  said.  "Our  name 
is  Gordon.  Yes,  we  are  going  up-river  to  see 
David  Westley.     We  are  his  friends." 

Gabe  looked  uneasily  around  with  his  open 
eye. 

"David,  he  got  plenty  money  to  have  plenty 
frien's,"  he  said.  "Him  big  man  on  Smoky 
River,  you  bet.  I  never  see  girl  kiss  her  brother 
before.    Where  yer  guide  an'  canoe,  anyhow?" 

Dorothy  told  him  of  the  desertjoc  of  Towly. 
Gabe  cried  out  with  indignation. 

"Shucks  I"  he  cried  in  a  ragged  voice.  "This 
river  ain't  safe.  Full  of  bad  men.  Steve  Ca- 
nadian an'  Bill  Towly.  Steve  watch  us  now, 
maybe." 

Then  he  sank  back,  hung  limp  over  the  bar, 
and  closed  his  eye  in  a  dead  faint.  Dorothy 
and  Tom  lifted  him  from  the  canoe  and  laid 
him  down  beside  the  river.     The  girl  carried 


In 


i 


.i-ivr-^;^  ,V!i!>^ 


iL 


r 


ill 


.u 


■M 


.% 

H 


n 


1 

<!.-? 


':? 


290      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

water  in  Tom's  hat  and  bathed  the  dusky,  blood- 
less face.  Tom  made  a  small  fire  and  con- 
verted it  into  a  smudge  by  piling  damp  moss 

upon  it.  ,.       u 

"He  needs  a  snifter,"  said  Tom,  feelmg  for 

his  flask  through  his  empty  pockets.     "Cuss 

that  unspeakable  Towly." 
They   crouched   low   in   the   smoke   of   the 

smudge.     At  last  Gabe  Bear  opened  the  eye 

that  was  not  held  shut  by  the  purple  lump  on 

the  brow. 
"Rum,"  he  whispered.     "Rum.     We  gotter 

git  up  an'  git." 

"I  have  no  rum— or  anything  of  the  kind," 
said  Tom.  "Towly  took  my  flask.  Where  is 
your  own  flask?" 

Gabe  sighed.  "I  have  one  bottle— whisky- 
Steve  take  him." 

"Let  me  fry  you  some  bacon,"  suggested 
Tom.    "You  must  be  hungry." 

A  look  of  unutterable  disgust  twisted  the 
woodsman's  face.  He  laid  one  of  his  puffed, 
raw  hands  upon  the  buckle  of  his  belt  and 
groaned.  "Bacum,"  he  whispered.  "Bacum?— 
an'  I  ax  for  rum  I" 

Tom  looked  ashamed  of  himself  and  laughed 

uneasily. 

"I  am  afraid  the  poor  fellow  is  very  ill,"  said 
Dorothy.  "Food  is  not  what  he  wants.  I  will 
bandage  his  head,  Tom.    Let  me  have  a  piece 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN       291 


of  your  shirt  for  bandages.  Have  we  any 
arnica?" 
"No,  but  Bill  Towly  has,"  replied  Tom. 
He  pulled  off  his  outer  shirt,  which  was  one 
of  fine  linen,  though  made  in  the  shape  and 
style  of  an  outing-shirt,  ripped  it  down  the  back 
with  his  knife,  and  handed  both  portions  to 
Dorothy.  Gabe  Bear  looked  on  with  every  sign 
of  distaste. 

"Maybe  Steve— he  foller  me,"  he  mumbled. 
"Maybe  he  spy— at  us— now.  We  got — no- 
time — fer  foolin'." 

"Perhaps  he's  right,"  suggested  Tom.  "Who- 
ever this  Steve  Canadian  may  be,  this  chap 
seems  to  be  everlastingly  scared  of  him.  Per- 
haps we  had  better  embark  and  push  along 
upstream.  Look  here,  Gabe,  why  do  you 
think  Steve  has  followed  you?  You  have  noth- 
ing more  about  you  for  him  to  take." 

"Steve  Canadian— him  one  devil,"  replied 
Gabe.  "Drink  my  whisky— then  tie  me  in  canoe 
— an'  push  me  out  into  current." 

"If  Steve  Canadian  turns  up  I  think  we  can 
deal  with  him,"  said  Dorothy.  "Your  head 
must  be  bandaged,  anyway." 

Gabe  sighed  as  he  saw  the  futility  of  further 
protest.  Dorothy  tied  up  his  head  in  wet 
strips  of  Tom's  shirt.  He  staggered  to  the 
canoe  and  climbed  aboard,  seating  himself  amid- 
ships. 


i  f 


292 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 


"Hurry!    Hurry  I"  he  cried. 

Tom  put  the  scanty  dunnage  aboard  and  then 
svvore  roundly. 

«'We  haven't  a  pole  or  a  paddle  1"  he  ex- 
claimed in  disgust. 

"Cut  a  pole,  you  fool,"  said  Gabe  weanly. 

"Spruce." 

Tom  climbed  the  bank  with  his  belt-ax  and 
began  to  search  for  a  young  spruce  that  would 
be  suitable  for  his  purpose.  He  had  never 
cut  a  canoe-pole  before.  He  examined  the 
timber  with  uncertain  eyes.  He  saw  plenty 
of  young  spruce,  but  nothing  that  looked  as  if  it 
would  fill  the  bill.  After  ten  minutes  of  fruit- 
less examination,  he  felled  a  tree  that  promised 
as  well  as  any  other  within  sight. 

This  was  in  a  small  natural  clearing  behind 
the  top  of  the  bank.  He  began  to  trim  the 
young  tree  of  its  branches,  stooping  low  to 
the  wo^k  because  of  the  shortness  of  the  ax- 
handle.  A  slight  sound,  detected  by  the  spirit 
rather  than  the  ear,  caused  him  to  glance  up 

quickly. 

He  faced  the  thicket  of  young  growth  from 
which  he  had  cut  the  pole.  What  he  saw  in 
the  green  dusk  of  the  thicket  caused  his  heart 
to  jump  in  his  breast  and  every  muscle  to 
stiffen  and  clamp  upon  his  bones.  A  slow  chill 
went  down  the  entire  length  of  his  back  like 
the  passage  of  a  frozen  hand. 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN      293 


He  stared  back  at  the  thing  in  the  green  dusk 
with  starting  eyes.  What  he  saw  was  a  face — 
doubtless  the  face  of  Steve  Canadian.  If  so, 
Gabe's  anxiety  was  not  to  be  wondered  at.  He 
scarcely  knew  it  for  a  human  face. 

The  one  eye  that  glared  out  at  him  was  red 
with  the  light  of  a  devil  or  a  hunting  beast. 
He  reflected,  feebly  but  swiftly,  that  it  seemed 
to  be  a  field-day  for  single  eyes.  Flickers  of 
absurdity  often  relieve  the  human  mind  in  mo- 
ments of  the  most  desperate  tension.  The  great 
scar,  still  red  and  rough  as  a  wound,  that  clove 
the  place  where  the  other  eye  had  once  been, 
filled  him  with  horror. 

"I  got  my  rifle,"  said  a  voice  from  the  dis- 
torted face.  "Lay  down  the  ax  an'  gimme  yer 
money." 

Tom  looked  down  at  the  ax  in  his  hands.  His 
brain  began  to  work  again  and  his  muscles 
oased  and  limbered  themselves  along  his  bones. 
The  fellow  had  a  rifle  and  would  use  it,  he  re- 
flected— and  yet! 

No,  it  could  not  be  done.  A  finger  can  be 
pressed  upon  a  trigger  more  swiftly  than  even 
a  light  ax  can  be  swung  and  thrown. 

Steve  may  have  read  Tom's  thoughts.  Con- 
sidering his  mishap  at  the  hands  of  Donald 
Grant,  it  is  quite  likely.  His  eye  wavered  to  the 
belt-ax,  and  for  a  second  horror  curdled  in  him. 
The  barrel  of  the  rifle  leaped  out  to  within  a 


I 


I  '- 


294      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

couple  of  yards  of  Tom's  breast.  Tom  let  his 
fingers  relax,  and  the  ax  fell  to  the  mossy 
ground.    He  straightened  his  long  back. 

"You  have  come  to  the  wrong  shop  for 
money,"  he  said.  "I  was  robbed  by  Bill  Towly 
a  couple  of  nights  ago." 

"Yer  a  liar,"  retorted  Steve  Canadian,  step- 
ping out  from  the  cover. 

Tom  sprang  at  him  quick  as  thought,  shout- 
ing a  warning  to  his  sister  and  Gabe  Bear. 

Steve  reeled  before  the  impact  (for  the  bottle 
was  empty  now),  but  managed  to  press  the 
trigger.  The  rifle  exploded  within  a  foot  of 
Tom's  face,  and  the  bullet  went  humming  over 
his  head.  His  hands  were  out,  ready  to  grab 
and  throw  the  Indian,  when  the  rifle-barrel, 
moved  with  a  swift  half-arm  yank,  caught  him 
on  the  side  of  t^*^  head  just  behind  the  ear. 
He  reeled  forward  and  fell,  carrying  Steve 
Canadian  with  him  to  the  moss. 


*T  il 


CHAPTER  XXn 


A  FIGHT   TO   THE   FINISH 


When  Dorothy  and  Gabe  Bear  heard  Tom's 
shout  of  warning  from  beyond  the  top  of  the 
bank,  Gabe  uttered  a  gurgling  scream  and  went 
limp  again  in  the  bottom  of  the  canoe. 

Dorothy  did  not  give  him  a  glance.  She 
snatched  up  her  rod,  in  its  canvas  case,  gripped 
the  lighter  end  of  it,  and  sped  toward  the  steep 
ascent  of  the  bank. 

Now  this  rod  of  hers,  though  useful  for 
trout,  had  been  built  heavy  enough  for  salmon. 
She  crossed  the  rocks  and  scaled  the  bank,  fleet 
as  a  deer,  and  unconscious  of  the  pains  and 
stifiness  of  her  limbs. 

Tom  was  in  danger,  and  had  shouted  for  her 
to  escape! — that  was  all  she  knew  or  cared 
about.  She  topped  the  bank  and  burst  from 
the  scrub  willows  into  the  little  clearing.  She 
detected  the  scene  of  action  at  a  glance,  without 
pausing  in  her  advance. 

The  young  spruce  tree,  shorn  of  a  few  of 
its  branches,  lay  between  her  and  the  men  on 

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296      TWO    SHALL   BE    BORN 

the  ground.  She  saw  that  Tom  was  on  top, 
but  that  the  other  man  was  slowly  pulling  him- 
self into  a  better  position.  Yes,  he  was  on  hia 
elbows  now— and  Tom  did  not  seem  to  be  try- 
ing to  hold  him  down.  What  did  it  mean?  Had 
Tom  been  shot?  Was  he  dead!  She  crossed 
the  little  glade  in  two  seconds  and  sprang  across 
the  fallen  tree. 

At  that  moment  the  terrible  creature  saw  her, 
screamed  a  curse,  and  flung  Tom's  inert  body- 
clear  of  him.  He  struggled  upward,  drawing  his 
feet  under  him,  and  thrusting  out  a  hand  in 
search  of  his  fallen  rifle.  And  he  laughed  with 
that  shattered  mouth  of  his.  It  was  all  as  quick 
as  lightning.     Dorothy  burned  with  rage  and 

grief. 

She  felt  no  pity  for  that  disfigured  face.  She 
swung  the  encased  rod  even  while  she  was  in 

the  air. 

"You  have  killed  him,"  .  .e  screamed;  and  as 
her  feet  came  to  earth  she  struck  full  at  that 
terrible  face. 

Canadian  dodged  the  blow  by  falling  back- 
ward; but  though  he  saved  his  head  he  caught 
it,  full  force,  on  his  shoulder.  It  knocked  a 
yelp  of  pain  out  of  him,  for  that  was  the 
shoulder  that  David  Westley's  iron  fingers  had 
gripped  the  night  before.  And  here  Dorothy 
lost  a  precious  second  of  time  and  a  precious 
advantara.   She  turned  to  glance  at  her  brother ; 


,.-bM"  '.-Mc^i.     •lLi,--:L! 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN      297 


and  though  he  moved  and  sat  np  at  the  same 
instant,  ^  '^h  no  wound  in  evidence,  the  ad- 
vantage was  lost. 

She  sprang  upon  the  hideous  Indian  and  tried 
to  press  him  back  to  the  moss;  but  she  had 
given  him  time  to  recover  his  balance.  Her 
mind  worked  swiftly.  She  knew  that  Tom  was 
alive;  but  she  felt  equally  sure  that  he  was  in 
no  condition  to  protect  himself  or  her. 

A  side-glance  showed  him  to  her,  leaning  up 
on  one  elbow,  his  head  nodding  and  his  eyes 
glazed  like  a  drunkard's.  She  guessed  that  he 
had  been  stunned  and  had  escaped  the  bullet. 
It  was  up  to  her  to  overpower  and  bind  this 
monster  with  the  broken  face.  But  for  the 
knowledge  of  this  fact  she  would  have  shrunk 
from  touching  the  fellow  with  her  hands;  but 
now  she  hurled  herbelf  upon  him  and  gripped 
his  throat  with  her  right  hand. 

A  fearful  struggle  followed.  She  was  at  once 
too  strong  and  not  strong  enough.  Had  she 
been  less  strong  in  muscle  and  spirit  the  fight 
would  have  been  brief.  But  the  fight  was  pro- 
longed, and  with  every  furious  second  of  it  the 
man  lost  in  humanity  and  grew  in  deviltry. 

He  cursed  her  in  hideous  and  unspeakable 
terms.  He  wrenched  himself  from  under  her 
hands  and  struck  upward  with  his  fist;  but  she 
caught  him  by  the  throat  again.  She  could  not 
bring  herself  to  strike  that  horrid  face  with 


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I    I 


298      TWO    SHALL   BE    BORN 


her  fist.  He  screamed  unnamable  threats. 
Twice  he  struck  her,  but  never  did  the  blow 
reach  her  with  full  force. 

She  was  as  quick  as  a  cat.  He  fastened  his 
fingers  upon  her  clothing — and  once  upon  her 
throat^-and  she  tore  herself  away  each  time 
only  to  spring  at  him  again.  Half  up,  only  to 
be  beaten  down  again — mauled  and  buffeted — 
now  within  an  ace  of  victory  only  to  find  his 
hana  empty  again — the  man  became  an  abso- 
lute devil. 

The  fury  of  the  girl's  strength  ebbed  slowly. 
At  last  he  gripped  and  held  her.  Then  she 
beat  upon  his  face  with  her  fists.  He  cursed  at 
the  agony  of  it,  but  laughed  hideously.  He 
flung  her  down — and  then  a  rifle  crashed  in 
his  ears  and  he  sank  back  upon  himself,  limp, 
with  one  leg  crumpled  beneath  him — dead! 

Tom  lowered  the  rifle  from  hi?  ^boulder,  vrith 
a  dazed  yet  satisfied  expression  on  his  face, 
and  gazed  at  the  result  of  his  shot.  He  had  fired 
at  the  devil's  head,  but  had  hit  him  under  the 
shoulder — and  it  had  not  been  a  long  or  hard 
shot. 

Te  remarked  that  it  was  a  pretty  good  shot, 
considering  the  fact  that  he  had  forgotten  the 
windage.  He  let  the  weapon  fall  across  his 
knees.  He  still  felt  very  groggy  from  the  blow 
behind  the  ear. 

"Buck  up.  Dot,"  he  said.     "You're  safe  as 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN      299 

a  churdi.  I've  plugged  the  skunk— with  his 
own  rifle,  too.  Sit  up  and  look  at  him.  Pretty 
good  rifle ;  but  heavy,  heavy.  It  took  me  about 
an  hour  to  lift  it— to  get  it  up  to  my  shoulder— 
and  the  sights  are  rotten. 

"I  came  very  near  giving  up  hope  of  ever  get- 
ting them  in  line.  Dot  Well,  I  hit  him,  any- 
way. You  fought  like  a  hero.  Dot— and  all  I 
could  do  was  to  sit  and  look  on.  Couldn't  move 
a  finger.  Couldn't  speak.  Buck  up.  You  aren't 
hurt,  surely?" 

Dorothy  did  not  move.  She  lay  where  Steve 
Canadian  had  flung  her,  with  closed  eyes,  ashen 
lips,  and  a  colorless  face.  Her  clothing  was  torn 
and  disordered.  Tom  crawled  over  to  her.  He 
was  sickeningiy  dizzy;  but  he  dragged  himself 
over  the  moss  to  her  side. 

"Oh!"  he  cried.  "Did  he  kill  you!  I'll  shoot 
him  again.  Open  your  eyes.  Dot.  Look  at 
me.  I  shot  him  before  he  could  kill  you.  I 
fixed  him." 

Then  his  eyes  cleared  a  little  of  the  blue  and 
purple  specks  that  showered  across  his  vision. 
He  felt  for  the  beating  of  her  heart  and  found 
it.  He  thanked  God  for  that.  He  rubbed  her 
wrists  between  his  hands  and  set  her  dress  as 
nearly  to  rights  as  he  could. 

"I'll  get  you  some  water  in  a  minute,"  he  said. 
"My  head  will  be  right  as  rain  in  a  minute." 

A  husky  bellow  of  consternation  from  close 


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300      TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 

at  hand  caused  him  to  look  up  from  his  sister's 
unconscious  face.  Over  the  brow  of  the  steep 
hill  came  a  big  man  with  a  paddle  in  his  hand. 
Tom  noticed  that  the  blade  of  the  paddle 
dripped  with  water.  He  noticed  this  unim- 
portant detail  before  he  saw  that  the  man  was 
his  friend  David  Westley.  David  was  beside 
him  in  a  second  and  down  on  his  knees. 

"You!"  whispered  David.  "I  heard  the  shot. 
I  was  looking  for  the  fellow.  Gabe  told  me 
something — and  I  guessed  right.  She  isn't  hurt, 
Tom?  Her  heart  is  going  steady — God  be 
praised.  There  is  no  blood.  How  did  it  happen, 
man?  Yes,  I  feel  her  heart.  I  must  get  some 
water  from  the  river." 

"She's  alive,  right  enough,"  said  Tom.  "She 
fought  like  ten  men.  I  was  hipped,  you  know — 
crocked — half  dead.  Got  a  crack  behind  the  ear 
before  she  came  up.  Wish  you'd  happened 
along  earlier,  Dave." 

Westley  turned  his  eyes  from  the  girl's  white 
face  and  looked  at  the  dead  Indian  with  a 
sudden  up-leap  of  hell  fires  in  his  eyes. 

"I  killed  him,"  said  Tom,  following  the  other's 
glance.  "They  fought  for  hours — or  it  seemed 
hours  to  me — before  I  could  lift  his  rifle.  I 
thought  she  had  him  beaten  more  than  once. 
But  she  couldn't  stand  the  pace— and  just  when 
she  gave  out  I  got  the  foresight  on  his  head. 
Didn't   hit   him   on   the   head,   though.     You 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN      301 


needn't  look  at  him  like  that,  Dave.    He's  dead 
— dead  as  dogmeat    Better  get  that  water." 

Westley  sprang  to  his  feet  and  dashed  away. 
He  was  back  w-'bin  the  half -minute  with  his 
felt  hat  full  1 1  water.  H?  knelt  beside  Dorothy 
and  bathed  b  r  face  and  wrists.  When  the  hat 
was  empty  ht  ^viiPed  a  flask  from  his  pocket  and 
tenderly  forced  a  little  brandy  between  her  lips 
and  teeth.  He  rubbed  her  hands  and  wrists 
and  forehead  with  the  liquor.  A  faint  sugges- 
tion of  pink  came  back  to  her  cheeks. 

"I  could  do  with  a  swallow  of  that  brandy," 
remarked  Tom,  after  he  had  looked  on  in  silence 
for  about  ten  minutes. 

"I  don't  understand  this,"  said  David.  "Why 
did  she  come — and  how  did  she  get  into  this 
state!    Where  is  your  canoe?" 

"Give  me  a  pull  at  that  flask,  and  then  I'll  tell 
you,"  said  Tom. 

He  took  the  flask  from  the  other's  hand, 
swallowed  a  gulp  or  two  of  the  raw  liquor, 
and  returned  the  vessel.  In  a  dozen  words  he 
told  of  the  robbery  and  desertion. 

•And  we  hoofed  it  as  far  as  this.  We  found 
Galie  in  the  cove,  bound  and  gagged  in  his  canoe. 
I  came  up  here  for  a  pole  and  that  fellow  at- 
tacked me.  He  laid  me  out;  and  then  Dorothy 
came  to  my  rescue  and  tackled  him,"  he  con- 
cluded. 

"She  is  coming  around,"  whispered  David, 


N 


11 


302      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

who  sat  on  the  moss  now  with  Dorothy's  head 
on  his  arm. 

The  girl's  eyelids  fluttered  up  for  a  moment, 
only  to  fall  again. 

"I  have  a  doctor  at  the  post,"  said  David, 
"and  tlie  sooner  we  get  her  there  the  better. 
God,  she  must  have  suffered  tortures !  Look  at 
her  face — and  her  hands." 

"She  hurt  her  hands  trying  to  strangle  that 
fellow,"  said  Tom,  with  a  nod  of  his  head  to- 
ward the  lifeless  body  of  Steve  Canadian. 

David  Westley  groaned  and  with  his  free 
hand  brushed  the  sweat  from  his  colorless 
face.  Then  he  got  to  his  feet,  stooped  and  lifted 
Dorothy  tenderly.  So  he  stood  for  a  moment, 
gazing  at  Tom  across  the  slender  senseless  form 
in  his  arms. 

"Why  did  she  cane  into  the  Smoky  River 
country?"  he  asked. 

Tom  scrambled  unsteadily  to  his  feet  and 
put  a  hand  against  a  young  spruce  for  support. 
He  laughed  weakly. 

"To  be  frank  with  you,  Dave,  she  came  to 
find  out  what  the  devil  you  were  making  such 
a  fool  of  yourself  for,"  he  answered.  "She 
could  not  understand — and  she  would  not  be- 
lieve the  worst.  She  had  written  several  let- 
ters, you  knew.  Or  perhaps  you  don't  know. 
Joice  told  her  where  to  find  you." 

"And  she  might  have  been  killed !"  cried  West- 


lU 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN      308 


ley,  moving  across  the  narrow  glade  with  the 
girl  in  hi    arms,  held  tight  against  his  breast. 

Tom  staggered  after  him,  still  very  groggy, 
light-headed  and  light-hearted.  Dorothy  opened 
her  eyes  as  Dp'^d  lowered  her  into  the  canoe 
upon  a  bed  oi  lolded  blankets.  She  stared 
blankly  into  his  face,  then  closed  her  eyes. 

"Don't  you  know  me?"  cried  David.  "Don't 
you  remember  mef 

Gabe  Bear,  who  now  sat  upright  in  the  canoe, 
forward  of  the  middle  bar,  looked  at  AVestley 
and  then  at  the  girl's  cut  and  fly-stung  face. 

"One  fine  girl,  anyhow,"  he  said. 

Tom  staggered  out  to  the  canoe  and  laid  a 
hand  on  David's  shoulder.  The  removal  of  the 
weight  of  care  from  his  heart  made  him  reck- 
less. 

"Dave,"  he  said,  "you  are  either  a  bounder 
or  a  fool.  It's  up  to  you  to  tell  me  which.  I'm 
her  brother.  She's  in  my  care.  I  can  stand  for 
a  fool — but  not  for  a  bounder." 

Westley's  face  flushed  darkly  and  the  veins 
stood  out  on  his  moist  forehead.  He  did  not 
look  at  Tom. 

"Shut  up — and  get  into  the  bow,"  he  said. 
"We  must  hurry." 

"Not  so  fact,"  returned  Tom,  who  heard  bells 
ringing  pleasantly  in  his  ears  and  saw  the  river, 
the  hills  and  the  canoe  all  swaying  and  rocking 
gently. 


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tm      TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 

•'Not  so  fast.  I'm  her  brother.  She's  a  fine 
girl — a  fine  woman.  What  I  want  to  know  is, 
what  the  devil  did  you  mean  by  acting  the  way 
you  did?    D'you  hear  me?" 

"Shut  up! — and  get  into  the  canoe!"  ex- 
claimed Westley,  turning  sharply  and  glaring 
darkly  upon  the  younger  man. 

"Don't  you  see  that  every  minute  counts — that 
we  must  get  her  to  the  doctor,  and  to  a  place 
where  she  can  be  decently  nursed?" 

Tom  grinned;  but  his  eyes  did  not  look  ex- 
actly normal.  They  were  opaquo  and  glistening 
like  the  eyes  of  a  drunkard.  The  rap  of  the 
rifle-barrel  behind  the  ear  had  gone  to  his  head 
like  many  strong  potations. 

Westley  saw  and  understood,  and  his  expres- 
sion changed. 

"Of  course,  I'm  a  fool,"  he  said.  "Need  I 
say  it?  I've  been  worse  than  a  fool  Tom.  Now 
get  in,  for  Heaven's  sake," 


CHAPTER  XXIII 


"you  are  a  dub" 


The  canoe,  with  its  four  occupants,  crawled 
slowly  up  the  sliding  river.  Tom  Gordon  sat 
in  the  how,  still  very  dizzy.  He  did  not  attempt 
to  work,  but  occasionally  applied  a  water-soaked 
handkerchief  to  the  tender  lump  behind  his  ear. 
He  pulled  his  hat  low  to  shade  his  aching  eyes 
against  the  glare  of  the  sunlight  on  swift  water. 

Gabe  Bear  sat  behind,  with  his  back  against 
the  middle  bar,  staring  straight  ahead  with  ex- 
pressionless eyes  and  trailing  his  puffy  hands 
in  the  water.  Dorothy  reclined  in  the  next  sec- 
tion of  the  canoe,  with  her  head  in  close 
contact  with  the  small  of  Gabe's  back.  She 
lay  upon  blankets,  on  her  right  side,  with  her 
knees  drawn  up  a  little. 

David  had  folded  his  coat  against  the  middle 
bar  to  serve  as  a  pillow  for  her.  And  at  the 
girl's  feet  stood  David,  with  legs  well  braced 
and  body  poised,  surging  upon  the  bending  pole. 
His  gray  shirt  was  open  at  the  neck,  and  his 
great,  corded  arms  were  bare  to  within  a  few 
inches  of  the  shoulders. 

He  wore  Indian-tanned  moccasins  and  gray 


» 


S0& 


306      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 


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Pi 


W'- 


woollen  socks  on  his  feet.  His  jaws  were  set 
hard,  and  his  half -shut  eyes  shifted  continually 
from  the  river  ahead  and  the  curving  shores  to 
the  face  of  the  girl  at  his  feet.  After  every  <^en 
thrusts  of  the  pole  he  stooped  forward  swiftly, 
scooped  his  right  hand  in  the  river,  and  bathed 
Dorothy's  face. 

Dorothy's  upper  lip  was  cut,  and  a  red  patch 
glowed  upon  the  tender  skin  above  the  right 
eye — the  work  of  Steve  Canadian's  fist.  David 
looked  down  upon  these  things  and  his  heart 
shook  in  his  side  and  his  soul  raged  and  melted 
with  many  conflicting  emotions. 

"Tom,"  he  said  suddenly,  "what  about  Walter 
Joice?" 

"Well,  what  about  himV"  returned  the  man 
in  the  bow. 

"You  know  what  I  mean.  Tell  me  straight. 
I  know  nothing." 

"Then  it's  your  own  fault  if  you  are  so 
dashed  ignorant.  Joice  played  the  game.  He 
never  had  the  ghost  of  a  chance.  There  wr.s 
never  any  question  of  Joice." 

"Then  why  didn't  he  say  so  when  he  was  in 
here  last  spring?" 

"Say  so?  Why  should  he?  I  never  heard 
that  he  was  your  guardian  or  your  nurse.  Dave, 
you  make  me  tired!  He  knew,  I  suppose,  that 
Dot  had  written  to  you — and  I  suppose  he 
thought  that  a  chap  v  lo  had  made  such  an  ass 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN      307 

of  himself  as  you  have — who  had  shown  so 
little  consideration  for  others  as  you  have — was 
not  worth  enlightening." 

"Oh,  I  agree  with  everything  you  say,"  ex- 
claimed David,  bitterly. 

"It  has  taken  you  a  long  time  to  see  the  tnith," 
replied  Tom. 

At  that  moment  David  lowered  his  glance  to 
Dorothy's  face  and  he  saw  her  open  eyes  full 
upon  him.  He  sank  quickly  to  his  knees  and 
bent  forward. 

"Do  you  know  me?"  he  whispered.  "Tell  me, 
Dorothy — do  you  know  me?" 

Her  lips  moved  a  little,  silently,  and  her  eyes 
said  "yes." 

But  he  saw  a  shadow  in  her  clear  eyes  and 
did  not  know  if  it  was  of  doubt  or  pain.  The 
canoe  began  to  drop  back,  so  he  arose  quickly 
and  bent  again  to  the  pole.  He  kept  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  hers. 

"She  wrote  to  you,"  said  Tom,  ignorant  of 
what  was  going  on  behind  him.  "Did  you  get 
the  letter — or  letters?" 

David  answered  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  his 
gaze  steady  upon  the  girl's  brightening  and 
darkening  orbs. 

"I  behaved  like  a  cad,"  he  said.  "I  was 
jealous.  I — I  burned  them  unopened — God  for- 
give me!    I  thought  you — she  did  not  care." 

Red    flooded    up    into    Dorothy's    face    and 


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308      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

slipped   away  again,  her  eyes   darkened   and 
softened  and  then  the  lids  fluttered  down. 

"You  are  a  dub,"  cried  Tom,  heavily.  "A 
dub,  d'you  hear?  I've  a  good  mind  to  fight  you 
when  we  get  ashore.  You  make  me  sick.  You 
burned  the  letters,  unopened,  did  you?  What 
right  had  you  to  do  that?  And  here  she's  been 
eating  her  heart  out^and  now  she's  half-dead. 
If  I  had  known  you  had  received  those  letters 
and  not  read  them  I  wouldn't  have  let  her  come. 
No,  not  a  step — because  you  are  not  worth  it." 

David's  face  was  white  and  drawn  with 
shame ;  but  in  his  eyes  shoi  (  a  light  of  victory 
and  joy.  He  surged  mightily  on  the  bending 
pole. 

The  tramp  through  the  woods,  the  poison  of 
the  fly-stings,  the  terrific  battle  with  Steve 
Canadian  were  too  much  for  even  Dorothy  Gor- 
don's sound  body  and  dauntless  spirit. 

She  was  weary,  body  and  soul.  Her  muscles 
ached  dully,  and  her  nerves  were  raw.  Her 
mind  went  far  afield,  in  a  haze  of  gray  and 
purple,  harking  back  to  old  days  and  old  faces. 

She  forgot  the  struggle  with  the  thing  with 
the  devil's  face— the  fury  of  the  fight  and  the 
horror  of  defeat.  She  forgot  the  canoe  and  the 
sliding  river.  She  sf  w  David,  knew  him,  then 
closed  her  eyes  and  drifted  far  away  again. 

Wlien  David  lifted  her  in  his  arms  at  the 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN      309 

canoe-landing  in  front  of  Two  Moose,  she  was 
talking  indistinctly  and  quickly.  Stars  were 
shining,  and  the  sun  had  been  down  these  last 
two  hours. 

He  carried  her  up  the  bank  and  across  the 
clearing,  with  Tom  Gordon  walking  close  and 
unsteady  at  his  heels.  Dogs  that  had  come  in 
on  the  lafct  tnow  with  their  masters  from  the 
trapping-grounds  barked,  and  howled,  and 
leaped  around  them  in  the  uncertain  gloom.  It 
was  a  sultry  night,  and  the  windows  and  doors 
of  the  huts  and  shacks  were  open,  pushing  back 
the  darkness  with  broad  smudges  of  yellow 
lamplight. 

A  whippoorwill  sent  forth  his  plaintive,  vol- 
leying cry  from  somewhere  at  the  edge  of  the 
clearing. 

David  strode  forward,  heedless  of  the  dogs 
that  leaped  against  him  in  friendliness,  and  fell 
back  and  slunk  away  suspiciously  from  the 
burden  he  carried.  Anything  suggestive  of 
human  suffrnng  stills  the  rollicking  in  a  good 
dog's  breast.  David  passed  his  own  shack, 
making  for  that  of  Rosie  MacKim. 

Dorothy  stirred  slightly  in  his  arms  and  put 
up  a  wavering  band  that  brushed  lightly  across 
his  face. 

"But  you  don't  understand,  daddy,"  she  said, 
in  a  hurried,  toneless  voice.  "It  was  my  fault 
as  much  as  his.    I  know  that  he  loves  me,  and  I 


i> 


'  I 


\f 


n 


r  I 

11 

I 

i 
I 

ill 
111 


m 


310      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

do  not  care  at  all  for  the  thing  you  call  pride. 
If  I  thought  that  he  did  not  love  me,  then  I 
should  tr>^  to  forget  him." 

David  lowered  his  face  quickly  and  touched 
his  lips  to  her  brow.  As  he  stepped  into  the 
patch  of  light  thrown  out  by  Rosie's  open  door 
Marie  Benoit  stepped  across  the  threshold  from 
within  and  halted  in  front  of  him  with  a  low 
cry  of  dismay.  Her  bright,  black  eyes  flashed 
from  David's  face  to  the  helpless  figure  in  his 

arms. 

"Who  is  it?"  she  whispered.    "Is  she  dead!" 

"She  is  alive,  thank  Heaven,"  returned  David, 
striding  past  her  and  entering  the  cabin.  Tom, 
following  unsteadily,  stumbled  against  Marie. 

To  sav  'limself  from  falling  he  clutched  her 
in  his  amis.  She  squirmed  around  with  a  little 
scream  and  confronted  him  with  a  beautiful 
and  agitated  face  shining  within  six  inches  of 
his  own.  Marie  seems  to  have  been  ordained  by 
fate  for  such  situations. 

"Beg  pardon,"  exclaimed  Tom,  smiling  vague- 
ly and  pleasantly  down  at  her.  "My  fault  en- 
tirely. I  feel  a  bit  shak>%  you  know.  Must 
go  in  after  David  and  my  sister,  I  suppose." 

Marie  trembled. 

"Your  sister,  monsieur f  Is  it  she  he  loves!" 
she  asked. 

"I  don't  think  there  can  be  any  doubt  about 
that,"  replied  Tom. 


||  - 


"■A 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN      811 


it 


"You  must  let  me  go,  monsieur.  I  am  going 
home,"  said  Marie,  not  unkindly. 

Tom  let  his  arms  fall.  "Oh,  I  beg  your  par- 
don!" he  cried. 

"It  is  granted,  monsieur,"  said  Marie  softly 
as  she  slipped  away. 

Tom  uttered  a  bewildered  and  fatuous  laugh 
and  stumbled  into  the  living-room  and  kitchen 
of  the  MacKim  home.  At  the  same  moment 
David  and  Pierre  MacKim  entered  from  an 
inner  room.  Tom  sat  down  weakly  in  a  ragged 
aiTiichair. 

"She  will  be  well  looked  after  now,"  said 
David.  "My  friend,  Mrs.  MacKim,  is  putting 
her  to  bed.  This  is  Pierre  MacKim,  another 
good  friend  of  mine.  I  hear  that  the  doctor  is 
at  No.  1  camp,  so  I'll  have  to  start  after  him 
immediately.  Pierre  will  show  you  the  way 
over  my  shack  and  get  you  whatever  you 
want." 

"All  I  want  is  an  ice-bag  on  the  back  of  my 
neck,"  said  Tom,  and  then,  without  more  ado, 
and  smiling  cheerily,  he  fainted  in  the  chair. 


it 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


UNDERSTANDING  AT  LAST 


lifT 


m 

Im:'' 

m 


"Chnck  some  water  over  him  and  give  him 
brandy;  then  you'd  better  put  him  to  bed," 
said  David  Westley  to  Pierre  MacKim. 

Without  waiting  to  see  his  orders  carried  out 
he  left  the  cabin  and  set  out  swiftly  across  the 
clearing  toward  the  mouth  of  the  wood-road 
which  led  to  No.  1  camp. 

Anxiety  for  Dorothy,  shame  of  himself,  won- 
der and  joy  filled  his  breast  to  the  point  of 
suffocation.  She  had  come  to  him  through  hard- 
ships and  dangers;  she  had  opened  her  eyes 
aLd  looked  at  him  with  recognition  and  nothing 
'-f  accusation,  as  he  had  laid  her  on  Rosie  Mac- 
ivim's  best  bed,  and  had  smiled  up  at  him  and 
whispered  his  name. 

Heavens!  Who  was  he  to  deserve  this! 
What  had  he  ever  done  to  deserve  it!  And 
what  had  he  not  done  to  cut  him  off  forever 
from  this? 

He  passed  within  a  foot  of  Marie  Benoit 
without  seeing  her.  He  reached  the  woods  and 
hurried  forward  along  the  black  road.    Sudden- 


sis 


TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN      818 

ly  he  stopped  short  with  a  low  exclamation  of 
dismay.  What  of  the  new  life  nowT  Was  this 
the  end  of  it! 

"Let  it  go!"  he  said,  advancing  again.  "It 
has  served  its  purpose.  It  has  taught  me  a 
wonderful  thing,  and  the  bitterest  truth  a  man 
can  learn.    Duff  can  look  after  all  this." 

He  waved  a  hand  in  the  dark.  "It  is  a  small 
thing  to  give  up— for  her— Heaven  knows  I" 

He  found  the  doctor  at  the  camp  and  started 
back  to  the  post  with  him,  explaining  Dorothy*s 
case  and  something  of  his  story  as  they  hurried 

along. 

These  two  were  about  half--  y  between  the 
camp  and  the  post  when  a  cu  .  >  touched  the 
gravel  below  the  big  clearing.  A  white  man 
sprang  out  of  the  bow  and  ran  up  the  bank, 
leaving  a  half-breed  guide  to  lift  the  canoe  out 
of  the  worry  of  the  current  and  collect  the 
paddles  and  dunnage. 

The  white  man  went  straight  to  David  West- 
ley's  cabin.  It  was  Walter  Joice,  come  back 
to  tell  that  which  he  should  have  told  before. 
He  found  David's  door  fastened  and  the  win- 
dows black. 

"He  may  be  over  at  the  factor's,"  he  said. 
"Now  is  my  time  to  see  that  factor,  anyway, 
and  get  the  secret  about  that  story  out  of  him. 
There  may  be  nothing  in  it,  of  course,  but  now 
that  I  am  here  I  may  as  well  make  sure." 


Ilk 


J! 

Iff; 
Mi 


hit 
I'i-' 


I',?' 


814      TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN 

So  he  went  over  to  the  big  house  in  a  curious 
but  not  unkindly  mood.  He  felt  a  certain  heal- 
ing calm  of  contentment  now  that  he  had  not 
known  for  a  long  time,  due  to  his  actions  and 
intentions  of  the  past  three  days  and  for  the 
immediate  future. 

He  was  playing  the  game.  By  the  time  he 
had  made  all  that  he  knew  known  to  David 
Westley  the  one  slip  that  he  made — the  one 
unsportsmanlike  play  that  he  had  been  guilty 
of— would  be  nullified.  He  had  left  the  train 
three  days  ago,  below  St.  Ann's,  with  his  own 
guide  and  canoe,  and  pressed  straight  up  Old 
Smoky  without  exchanging  a  word  with  the 
villagers. 

So  he  had  not  heard  anything  of  the  young 
man  and  young  woman  who  had  set  out  for 
Two  Moose  before  him,  accompanied  by  Bill 
Towly. 

For  three  days  he  and  his  man  had  plied  pole 
and  paddle,  turn  and  turn  about,  thrusting  up 
the  rattles  and  lesser  rapids,  and  passing  over 
portages  at  a  jog  trot.  They  had  made  a  record 
trip. 

Captain  Joice  stepped  onto  the  factor's  ve- 
randa and  knocked  on  the  door.  It  was  opened 
to  him  by  an  old  Indian  woman.  He  glanced 
over  her  shoulder  and  saw  the  factor  standing 
in  the  doorway  of  the  sitting-room,  looking  at 
him. 


jf, 


TWO   SHALL   BE   BORN      315 


Their  eyes  met.  Grant  flung  up  his  right 
hand  with  a  vague  and  feeble  gesture  and 
stepped  backward  into  the  room.  Joice  gasped, 
stood  for  a  moment  as  if  frozen  to  the  threshold 
of  the  house,  then  pushed  the  old  squaw  aside 
and  sprang  into  the  sitting-room. 

Grant  leaned  against  the  edge  of  the  table, 
facing  him  like  a  thing  at  bay.  And  yet  there 
was  no  suggestion  of  the  wish  or  intention  to 
fight  in  the  factor's  eyes.  He  looked  cornered, 
beaten,  and  resigned. 

"Who  are  you?"  cried  Joice,  stepping  close 
and  staring  into  the  thin,  bearded  face,  and 
mild,  despairing  eyes.    "Who  are  you?" 

"You  know,"  said  the  other,  his  voice  as  thin 
as  a  whisper. 

"But  I  don't  know!"  exclaimed  Joice.  "The 
man  I  think  you  are  is  dead!" 

They  gazed  at  each  other  for  a  full  minute, 
with  lifeless  faces  and  eyes  that  brightened  and 
darkened  like  lamps  in  the  wind. 

"Then  for  Heaven's  sake,  if  you  have  any 
mercy,  let  it  be  so,"  said  Grant  at  last.  "Let 
your  cousin,  who  died  in  South  Africa,  remain 
dead,  and  let  Donald  Grant  live  on." 

"How  was  it  done?"  asked  Joice,  sitting  down 
weakly  in  the  nearest  chair. 

"Ask  your  father.  He  is  a  clever,  and  a 
proud  man   Heaven  bless  him,"  replied  Grant. 

They  were  silent  for  a  long  time.    Then  Joice 


316      TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 


-iJi 


ii. 


said:  "Can't  it  be  managed  in  some  way?  I 
have  come  in  for  a  property  that  should  be 
yours.  It  is  worth  a  good  deal.  I  don*t  need 
it." 

"Keep  it,  and  let  things  be  as  they  are,"  re- 
turned the  factor.  "I  want  to  live  out  my  new 
life — the  new  life  of  Donald  Grant.  See  these 
letters.  I  can  make  a  living.  I  am  going  back 
to  the  world.  Be  merciful,  Walter — merciful 
to  a  coward." 

Joice  took  the  factor's  hand. 

"Your  life  is  your  own,  Dick,  though  your 
grave  is  another  man's,"  he  said  with  a  choking 
laugh.  "Well,  this  clears  the  mystery  of  the 
book  with  a  vengeance!" 

They  talked  quietly  for  nearly  half  an  hour. 
They  were  disturbed  by  the  opening  of  the 
front  door  and  hurried  steps  in  the  hall. 

David  Westley  entered  the  room. 

"Grant,"  he  cried,  "Steve  Canadian  is  dead." 

David  did  not  take  much  sleep  that  night. 
He  spent  the  black  hours  between  his  own  shack 
(where  Tom  snored  in  his  bunk),  the  factor's 
sitting-room,  and  Rosie  MacKim's  cabin. 

Now  he  smoked  beside  his  own  door,  or  ques- 
tioned the  sleepy  doctor  within;  now  he  paced 
the  dry  moss  of  the  clearing,  gazing  at  the 
shaded  light  in  the  room  where  Dorothy  lay  and 
Rosie  MacKim  sat  watching,  and  again  he 
joined  the  cousins  in  the  factor's  house,  and 


f;. 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN      817 


gave  ear,  with  a  fragment  of  his  mind,  to  frag- 
ments of  that  strange  history. 

Shortly  after  dawn  he  fell  asleep  in  one  of 
Grant's  chairs.  It  was  seven  o'clock  when  he 
awoke.  He  sprang  from  the  chair,  scarcely 
noticing  that  Grant  and  Joice  were  still  smoking 
and  talking,  and  ran  across  the  sunlit  clearing 
to  the  MacEam  cabin.  Bosie  met  him  at  the 
door. 

"She  slept  like  a  babe,  the  dear  heart,"  said 
Rosie,  "and  now  she  calls  for  you,  M.  le  Boss." 

David  had  nothing  to  say  to  that,  and  no 
voice.  He  passed  Rosie  and  went  into  the 
little  bedroom.  Rosie  closed  the  door  behind 
him. 

Dorothy  was  sitting  up  against  the  pillows, 
with  a  blanket  ibout  her  shoulders.  Much  of 
the  swelling  had  gone  from  her  tender  face. 
Her  eyes  were  bright  and  gentle.  She  put  out 
her  hands,  one  of  which  was  bandaged. 

David  sprang  foi*ward,  sank  to  his  knees  be- 
side the  bed,  seized  her  hands,  and  pressed  them 
to  his  face.    She  looked  dowr  at  his  bent  head. 

"Poor  boy,"  she  whispered.  "Did  you  think 
I  did  not  love  you?" 

"I  was  sure  of  it,"  he  murmured,  kissing  her 
hands  again  and  again.  But  he  did  not  look 
up.    "I  was  a  fool !" 

"Did  you  think  that  you  did  not  love  me?" 
she  asked,  smiling  down  at  his  bent  head. 


.^ 


•li 


t' 


IH 


818      TWO    SHALL   BE   BORN 

"No,  but  I  tried  to  forget  it,"  he  whispered. 

"Are  you  glad?"  she  asked. 

At  that  he  raised  his  head  and  looked  at  her. 
Tears  sparkled  on  her  lashes  and  her  cheeks 
were  pink.  On  brow  and  lip  he  saw  the  marks 
of  the  man's  fury. 

His  face  went  white  as  the  pillows.  He  got 
slowly  to  his  feet,  shaking  in  every  muscle, 
leaned  over  the  bed,  slipped  an  arm  behind  her 
shoulders,  and  kissed  her  with  passionate  rev- 
erence upon  the  trembling  lips  and  bright,  wet 
eyes, 

"I  came  because  I  knew,"  she  said  a  minute 
later. 

He  could  only  repeat  that  he  had  been  a  fool, 
and  worse.  Her  head,  with  its  braided  hair, 
was  upon  his  shoulder.    She  laughed  up  at  him. 

"But  I  planned  to  go  out  for  a  little  while," 
he  said.  "I  started  once,  and  was  stopped  by 
some  trouble  here.  I  meant  to  start  again  to- 
morrow to  make  sure  of  the  truth.  The  mad- 
ness was  working  out  of  me,  dear." 

"I  am  glad  I  came,"  she  replied.  "It  was 
hard,  but  I  won  through  to  you,  and  found  you 
in  your  own  country." 

He  trembled  as  he  thought  of  what  sne  had 
bp.ttled  through. 

"It  is  a  wild  and  desolate  country,"  he  said. 
"I  have  grown  fond  of  it,  but  it  would  be  un- 
bearable to  you.    We  shall  go  back  in  a  few 


TWO    SHALL    BE    BORN      819 

days— as  soon  as  you  are  strong  enough  for 
the  journey." 

"Only  to  return  vHhin  the  month,"  she  said. 
"It  is  your  country.  Your  work  is  here,  Dave, 
and  here  I  found  you— and  myself,  too,  I  think. 
Dave,  I  am  a  braver  woman  than  I  thought,  and 
I  am  wise.  I  was  not  sure,  in  the  old  days,  that 
I  was  at  all  brave  or  at  all  wise. 

"Let  this  be  our  country.  I  know  how  they 
like  you,  Dave— Rosie,  and  Pierre,  and  the 
doctor,  and  the  men  in  the  camps,  and  the 
trappers— and  perhaps  they  will  learn  to  love 
me  a  little.  We  could  not  find  so  many  dear 
people  in  New  York  and  London  to  love  us. 
And  here,  between  the  river  and  the  forest,  I 
think  that  wisdom  will  stay  with  us— and  peace. 
I  think  our  happiness  will  be  safe  here." 

"Heaven  bless  you,"  whispered  David,  kissing 
her  again. 


THE  END. 


^mmmmmm 


